Winter In Your Bones
by Kat A. Klysmic
Summary: You're a modestly successful fiction writer living in rural Alaska; just you, your dog, and your horse in a small cabin on a large piece of property in the shadow of a mighty mountain range. You're used the the quiet, enjoy it even, but when you start having recurring dreams of a strange skeleton visiting you in the night you wonder if the solitude might be starting to get to you.
1. The skeleton that came in from the cold

**AN:** Well, I was going to wait until I was completely done writing this fic to start posting it, but I'm literally two scenes from the end so I'll probably be done by the time I post chapter two XD I'll be updating this weekly, so look forward to it!

The premise is one that kinda came to me while on the edge of sleep at five o'clock in the morning a few weeks ago and I just... couldn't ignore it 8'D Just a heads up, there _will_ be smut by the end of this! I'll post a warning when the time comes, though.

This is quite possibly the _most_ Alaskan thing I've ever written.

 **Please read the notes at the end for an important question!**

* * *

 **Chapter One  
** The skeleton that came in from the cold

The clouds overhead are dark and heavy as you pull up to your little cabin and give your pickup truck's parking brake a solid stomp to force the aging gears to engage. You slide out from behind the steering wheel, dry fall leaves crackling under your boots with every step as you circle around to fetch your groceries from the back. Casting an experienced eye skyward, you determine that it won't be snowing today, but make a mental note to dig your snow shovel out of the shed regardless. It's just a few degrees shy of cold enough, and though it'll no doubt get colder once the sun sets behind the mountains that loom over your little home, you know snow clouds when you see them, and these aren't them.

You drop the tailgate of your truck and grab up an armful of groceries as an excited bark reaches your ears. By the time you turn and see the white and gray form bounding towards you through the leaves it's practically on top of you, barking happily.

"Down, Lucy! Down!" you command, laughing as you turn to one side so your over excited mutt of a dog won't knock the groceries from your arms. "You literally _just_ saw me this morning," you complain half heartedly as you continue to the front door of your small cabin and juggle bags for a moment while you unlock it, then kick your way inside.

It's still warm within, even though you'd made a point to turn off the heat before leaving that morning to save on energy, for which you thank the cabin's well insulated architecture. It is simple in design, made up of one big room with the exception of the bathroom, which had been added some time after the original building had been constructed. You are particularly grateful for this addition, as while you don't mind living so far from town on your own with internet that was spotty on the best of days, and non-existent the other seventy percent of the time, modern bathroom facilities really are a must-have for you.

You moved in just over two years ago now and had put quite a lot of time into fixing the place up to your tastes. The cabin and the many acres around it have been in your family since your great-grandfather originally staked a claim on the land and actually homesteaded it back in the tail end of the days when that had still been possible. You and your family had visited here every summer up until around your sixteenth birthday when the trips began to lose their appeal in the face of greater temptations closer to home and your budding teenage social life.

High school was long behind you now, and you had been struggling to complete the sequel to your modestly popular adventure-romance novel when you decided that a little peace and quiet away from distracting city life was exactly what you needed to get your work done. It was your father that had suggested the cabin, and with his help, you'd managed to get it cleaned up and repaired before settling in full time. Of course, things to do around the place keep stacking up, and you find yourself putting more and more time and effort into not only maintaining it, but making it more comfortable as well. Without even planning to, you have settled in for the long haul, even after finishing your second book and beginning a third. It isn't quite the life you'd become accustomed to growing up in the city, but it is one you find yourself enjoying more and more as time goes on. You certainly aren't planning on going anywhere any time soon.

The lights flicker to life overhead as you flip the switch by the door and narrowly avoid tripping over your dog as she pushes in past you. "Off the couch, you filthy animal!" you command as Lucy dares to jump up onto the battered but comfortable piece of forest green furniture. "God knows what you've been rolling in while I was out," you mutter aloud as the dog slinks off the couch and tails you into the small kitchen area, then sits watching as you put away your purchases. The trip into town is an hour and a half drive on a good day, so you generally only make it in once a week, tops. You can go longer without, of course, but you like getting some time in around people each week so you don't feel like a _total_ recluse.

That done, you pause for a moment, debating on whether or not to start dinner before ultimately deciding that chores have to come first. Winter isn't quite here yet, but there's a little less daylight with every dawn this time of year, which forces you to shift your normally lax schedule to accommodate.

"C'mon, let's go check on Merlin," you say to Lucy as you strip off the cute sneakers you wore for your drive to town and switch them out for the xtratuff boots you keep on a mat just inside the door. You detour briefly back to the kitchen and grab an apple before leaving once more.

Outside, the light is fading fast, and you're glad you decided to hold off on dinner, even if you are hungry. There's a paddock behind the cabin, and it's towards this that you walk now. You step onto the lower rung of the fence, then give your leg a practiced swing up and over, and you're inside with the handsome buckskin gelding you have dubbed 'Merlin'. He's as much of a mutt as your dog is, but smart as a whip and sturdy enough to haul heavy loads, which has proved useful on many occasions. It hadn't been your intention to acquire a horse when you first moved into the cabin. In fact, you had been considering tearing down the somewhat ramshackle old stable your great grandfather had built altogether when Merlin unexpectedly arrived in your life.

Maintaining a horse is a fairly large expense, but Merlin has proved so useful around the property that you can't see being without him. He isn't built for speed, but he is sure of foot on the more treacherous grounds further up the mountain, and strong to boot. He's more work to keep than a four wheeler, but more agile and infinitely better company.

"Hey, handsome," you coo to the horse as you approach. He flicks his ears forward and starts towards you at an easy pace, meeting you halfway across his pen to butt his head solidly against your shoulder and lip your shirt. You laugh and offer him the apple you brought, which he takes delicately in his teeth and proceeds to bite clean in half. You catch it, and rub one hand down along his tan neck as he finishes his mouthful before offering him the remainder.

You scratch Merlin's cheek and tell him, "Alright, now stay outta my way while I work, huh?" then head into the stable.

It's warm and smells of horse here, the sweetness of hay, and the grassy, earthiness of dung. You flip on the light and set about mucking out Merlin's stall. Halfway through, you hear barking and the sound of hooves on packed earth, so you glance back into the paddock to see your horse chasing Lucy around the pen. You roll your eyes and get back to work, unworried by the display. Merlin likes to act tough, but you know he won't lay teeth on your dog. More, you know Lucy can just slip under the fence if she is truly afraid. The pair work well together when you're out and about on the property, but they have their little games they like to play when they get bored at home.

When you finish, Lucy is sprawled in the leaf covered grass outside the paddock and Merlin is at his trough. You check to make sure he still has plenty of water, then give the horse a goodnight slap across the shoulder and head back to the cabin. It's almost full dark by this point, and you pause on your doorstep to glance up at the stars.

So far from town and its accompanying light pollution, the patches of night sky visible through the scattered clouds are a deep blue velvet vista of diamond bright stars and a fingernail slim crescent moon. You take a deep breath as you admire the sight, then exhale it in a cloudy plume, the drop in temperature finally registering as your body cools from the exertion of cleaning out the stable. You'd thought it'd drop below freezing once the sun went down; turns out you were right.

A few hours later, after making yourself dinner and hammering out a few more pages of your next novel, you crawl into bed with the self-satisfied feeling of a day well spent. Lucy has sprawled herself out on the floor to the side of your bed and you wish her goodnight out of habit, though she barely twitches an ear. Tired as you are, sleep takes you quickly, even by your standards. Your friends and family have always wondered at your ability to drop off to sleep at the drop of a hat, something more than one of them envies about you.

It does, however, seem to come at the cost of being an unusually deep sleeper. Worse, as quick as you are to drift off, you are equally slow to wake, sometimes able to carry on entire conversations without even remembering them later. The worst part, your friends and family tell you, is that you sound perfectly lucid during these conversations, so they have no idea that you're actually still asleep unless you happen to start rambling about something nonsensical, which happens on occasion.

This being your lot in life, it is perhaps not surprising that you don't hear someone enter your cabin in the middle of the night, door swinging open without resistance despite the fact that you definitely locked it before bed. You do, however, stir when someone gets into bed with you. Not even _your_ sleep dulled senses can ignore that.

By the soft glow of the nightlight you keep next to the bathroom door to save you from tripping over the dog in the dark, you see a figure clad in a plush jacket and what appears to be a pair of track pants crawling up the length of your queen sized bed. You blink slowly as you watch the strange figure drop onto the mattress next to you and proceed to curl into a ball.

It is, you realize after a moment's tired observation, a skeleton.

Your sleep fogged brain considers this for a moment, then assesses its options.

Option one: Scream. Scream long and loud enough that people all the way back in town will hear, then make a break for the door and grab the shotgun you keep next to the shoe rack in case of emergencies because clearly the zombie apocalypse happened while you were out and no one bothered to let you know.

Option two: Don't scream, but slip out of bed quiet as you can manage and, again, make a bee-line for the shotgun.

Boy, you really need to keep that shotgun closer to the bed, apparently.

Option three: Go back to sleep because this is obviously a dream. There is no way there is a skeleton in bed with you right now. Even out here in the middle of the woods in a little cabin overlooking a lake in the shadow of some truly eldritch mountains, that sort of thing simply doesn't happen. You probably ate something you shouldn't have. Or maybe this is one of those dreams that was meant to tell you something about the state of your subconscious. Hadn't you read somewhere that dreaming about brushing your teeth meant you were feeling defensive about something? Falling dreams were all about insecurity… was that a blog post maybe? What did dreaming about skeletons say about your subconscious, you wondered.

After careful consideration, your brain decides to go with option three, which is lucky for the skeleton, you suppose. You yawn a little and watch your peculiar guest through heavily lidded eyes, curious to see if he does anything of interest that you should try to remember come morning. Who knows, maybe it'll tell you a little something about yourself.

You're not sure what you were expecting, but shivering isn't it. Shivering is exactly what the skeleton begins to do, though; so much so that you can hear his bones rattle even from beneath the weight of his coat. Rather than frightening, you are beginning to find this dream stranger of yours rather sad, especially as he (you assume it's a he, anyways) curls into an even tighter ball and actually inches closer to you. You feel a surge of pity for the skeleton, spurring you to grope around blindly in the dark until you find one of the blankets that you kicked off at some point in the night as you warmed up, like you always do.

You pull it up and over onto your guest as best you can with a few fumbling tugs and smile a little to yourself when his bone rattling shiver finally lets up and he relaxes a little. Problem solved to the extent that your mostly sleeping brain feels necessary, you drift off to sleep once more.

* * *

You jolt awake shortly after nine when the alarm clock on the stand by your bed goes off for the third time and finally succeeds in dragging you from your deep slumber. Brow furrowed in confusion, you look around disoriented and half expecting someone to be in the room with you, though you're not sure why. You've only had visitors a few times since moving in, and none at all within the last few months.

When you're a little more awake and halfway through making yourself a bowl of oatmeal, the dregs of your peculiar dream rise to the surface of your mind. You smile some at the strangeness of it; imagine a skeleton climbing into bed with you in the middle of the night without warning! It has to be a dream, because there's no way you wouldn't have screamed your head off at that little development had you been awake. You haven't even shared a bed with a regular man in more years than you were comfortable admitting to; the idea of doing so with a _skeleton_ man is downright laughable.

The dream is soon forgotten as you go about your week as usual; writing, riding, and prepping the cabin for winter. Your father had been there last year to help you, but this year you're on your own. You figure he must be testing you to make sure you can fend for yourself on the property, which you suppose is fair. You're getting to live there rent free, after all, the least you can do is take care of the place. The land is still in your father's name, but you've long since discussed the fact that you will inherit it upon his (hopefully distant) death, so if anything it's an investment for your own future.

You make your weekly trip into town for groceries and a few other odds and ends you've found yourself needing around the cabin, and again you note the rapidly declining temperature. It's colder than it was last week on the same day, though still there is no sign of snow. Also like last week, you dream of a skeleton climbing into bed with you, cold and shivering so hard his bones rattle.

This time, however, things play out a little differently.

The skeleton drops (gratefully, to your tired eyes) to the mattress beside you as you yawn and mumble, "Mr. Skeleton's back, what do ya know."

The skeleton in question goes immediately rigid at your words and snaps his head up to look at you. For the first time you realize that, unlike a normal human skull, the eye sockets of this one are illuminated by two pinpricks of light like twin stars that seem to operate similar to the pupils of a normal eye.

Your guest begins to back away slowly, as though afraid you might lash out (or maybe just scream, as had been your first inclination the last time) at him, but pauses when you unexpectedly say, "You have pretty eyes."

He blinks at you, a process that your tired brain is utterly fascinated by. Despite being made entirely of bone just like any normal (e.g. _dead_ ) skeleton, the features of his face seem to be flexible enough to allow not only for eyelids (also made of bone? You have so many questions and none of the mental wherewithal to ask them so late at night.), but lips as well. In fact, there's no gap between his jaw bone and the rest of his skull like their ought to be at all, which is strange.

Just what kind of skeleton have you dreamed up anyways?

"er," he says finally, still frozen in place on his hands and knees. "thanks."

You nod. That was the polite answer, of course. He starts to back away slowly again, and you ask, "Where you going?"

Again he pauses and you find yourself pinned by his curiously intense starlight stare. "away?" he suggested vaguely, seeming thrown by your casual acceptance of his presence in your home. Why should you be bothered, though? After all, it's just a dream, and how often do you get the chance to talk to a real, live (?) skeleton?

"Why?" you ask again, and then, around a yawn, add, "mi casa es su casa, skelefriend."

"huh?"

It occurs to you that maybe this skeleton doesn't know basic spanish, so you say, "Make yourself comfortable, I don't mind."

"you don't… mind," he repeats, words heavy with disbelief, but you're already starting to drift off again.

"Nah," you mumble with a vague sort of wave of the hand from under your pile of blankets. "Want some blanket?" you offer amiably.

" _please,_ " he replies with such emphasis that you actually crack one eye open again and give him a lopsided smile. A faintly glowing dusting of blue blooms across his cheeks and your smile widens a little when you realize that this must be your dream skeleton's way of blushing.

It's pretty cute.

You pull one of your fallen blankets over him again and he accepts it gratefully, dragging it up and over him until he's cocooned almost as thoroughly as you are. "Thanks," he says a little gruffly as he settles in and you just nod. As you drift off again, it occurs to you that this skeleton of yours has a very pleasant voice for someone that technically doesn't have vocal chords. It's low, and just a little raspy in a way that's easy on the ears. It also has an unusual resonance to it that you've never heard on a human before, but you suppose that's alright seeing as he's a skeleton. Maybe that's what happens when all the meat and organs of a body aren't there to get in the way of your voice projecting…

Come morning you're sitting on the sofa with a fresh cup of coffee as you mull over this now recurring dream. Curious and not quite willing to get off the couch and start your day yet, you pull up your phone's web browser and pray to the fickle wifi god of the mountain for a little signal. You luck out and are actually able to spend a few minutes googling dream meanings.

" _To see a skeleton in your dream represents something that is not fully developed. You may still in be the planning stages of some situation or project. Alternatively, a skeleton symbolizes death, transformation, or changes. You need to get to the bottom of some matter. The skeleton may also be a metaphor for "skeletons in your closet." Do you have something to hide?"_

You take a sip of coffee and give your phone a skeptical look. None of that seems to particularly apply to you, no matter which way you turn it. You are well into the middle of working on your book; everything is planned, you just have to finish _writing_ the damn thing. Maybe that could be the thing you need to 'get to the bottom of'? You don't have any particularly heinous metaphorical skeletons in your closet either, just the literal one that keeps showing up in your dreams. Sure, you've had a few bad relationships, but who hasn't?

You've always been the straightforward sort, so you really don't have much to hide, either.

At the bottom of the paragraph was an additional line that read: " _To see someone depicted as a skeleton signifies that your relationship with them is long dead."_

Your brow furrows in thought as you mull this over. _Do_ you know the skeleton from your dream? You are quite certain you couldn't pick your own family out of a line-up if they were suddenly skeletons, so it's hard to say. On the other hand, if you are operating on dream logic, you would probably just know who the skeleton was supposed to be if that were the case. What's the point otherwise?

Dissatisfied but not entirely surprised, you close the page and push yourself to your feet with a sigh that makes Lucy glance up at you from her bed. "C'mon, dog," you say and lift your hands over your head for a stretch. "Let's get to work, shall we?"

* * *

Four days later and you're dreaming again. This time the dream starts with the skeleton kicking his shoes off at the door, which you think is very polite of him. Your eyes close again and you nearly drift off when you feel the mattress shift a little, bringing you back.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," you muse without opening your eyes.

You feel him pause as he often does, then ask, "do we?"

You crack open an eye and see him regarding you seriously, making you realize he mistook your meaning and thinks you want him to leave. The thought of not having any more of your rather fascinating (if strange) skeleton dreams makes your heart drop. "Of course not," you answer quickly. "Just trying to be funny is all," you add with a sleepy smile.

The line of tension in his back relaxes and a lazy smile creeps across his features as he says, "yeah? better luck next time, kiddo."

You scoff, but before you can reply you feel him shudder beside you, prompting you to reach for the blanket like you always do. This time, though, you pause, and after a moment's thought, lift your arm and invite him under the blankets proper where it's warmest. "Might as well come under here," you say. Under normal circumstances you would have been embarrassed out of your mind at your straightforwardness in inviting someone of the opposite sex to share such an intimate space with you. Here in dreamland with your favorite skeleton, though, it seems perfectly natural.

Your guest stares at you for so long that you actually wave the blanket at him in an attempt to snap him out of it. He hesitates noticeably to accept, but the motion of your arm sends a gush of delicious heat rolling out and breaks his resolve. "yeah, alright, what the hell," he says and wriggles his way under the blankets, making you grin triumphantly.

"Coat off," you direct him before he can settle in properly when you realize he's still wearing it. He rolls his eyes in response, a curious thing to witness considering the nature of said eyes. It's a bit like watching twin stars orbiting two black holes. He does as he's told though, and strips off his jacket then balls it up and tosses it towards the door where he left his shoes before laying back and dragging the blankets up to his nose.

The skeleton rolls over to face you in bed, accidentally fetching his socked feet up against your bare ones. Even through the layer of fabric they feel like ice, making you hiss in complaint and snatch your own away.

"Jesus you're cold!"

"name's sans, actually. _ice_ to meet you, kid." he says within a grin.

You manage to open both eyes in response and blink at him before a smile of your own takes over your face. "Punning at me in my own bed? That's _cold,_ man," you joke, then introduce yourself in turn.

He chuckles low in his chest, delighted by your reply, but is interrupted by the shiver that rocks his boney frame. Feeling bad for your outburst, you reach out with your feet and use them to grab his, making Sans start. You chafe them a little, clumsy but effective, and slowly they begin to warm.

"thanks," he says, and though your eyes are already closed once more, you smile.

"No problem," you mumble into your pillow.

* * *

The dreams keep coming. Never more than twice a week, but always at least once, Sans visits your dreams, leaving you with only vague memories of what you spoke. It's a little strange, you think, kind of like having an imaginary friend. You wonder if the solitude is starting to get to you out here in the woods despite your weekly trips into town. Are you so lonely that you feel compelled to dream up someone worth talking to that isn't your dog or horse?

You don't _think_ you are. You've always been the solitary type, after all, and you have plenty of friends online that you keep in touch with, spotty wifi or no.

Thinking hard on the matter, you know you've told him about your books, and one night when he comes to visit he tells you that he read the first one and enjoyed it, which you find flattering. This thought just makes you wonder if maybe you didn't dream Sans up for a little ego stroking, but quickly discard the idea. If anything, you're becoming concerned that maybe you dreamed the skeleton up for an entirely _different_ kind of stroking, a fact (new kink?) you're not entirely sure what to make of.

By the light of day you're not certain if you feel a physical attraction to the skeleton, but you have to admit that there's certainly an emotional one. Your dream skeleton is wickedly funny with a sense of humor that ranges from subtly cutting to outright cheesy, always keeping you on your toes. He's smart and insightful while also being an excellent listener.

In fact, he might be a little _too_ good of a listener, you come to realize. He always manages to get you talking while volunteering very little about himself before you inevitably drift off again. In an effort to better remember your dreams, you begin to document them in a journal each morning after you have the dream for a third time. You want to remember more of what he says, but it's a struggle that always leaves you frowning at the page of your journal while chewing on the end of your pen.

Over the next month and a half it snows a few times, but it never sticks more than a day, a frustrating false start to winter every time it happens. You wish the weather would just make up it's mind and get it over with already…

Up until it does, at which point your entire life gets turned upside down.

* * *

"How are you always _so cold_?!" you complain as Sans climbs onto the bed and slips immediately under the covers as has become his habit since you first invited him to do so weeks before.

"it's snowing outside," he says, which certainly explains why the hem of his track pants are wet and cold when your feet brush his under the covers. You're never certain if he's wearing the exact same clothes as last time, thanks to the room always being lit by only your bathroom nightlight, but if they're not, they certainly run on a theme. Always dark track pants with a white t-shirt and a soft gray hoodie, as well as his familiar blue jacket that now gets left by the door every time he enters. You always find it interesting how these dreams seem to have a continuity to them. "plus," he continues, "there's not a lot of meat on these old bones to keep the heat in."

You chuckle and meet his feet with yours, despite the dampness of his pants, unable to even crack a joke at what was probably quite true. "Well, give me your hands too, then," you say and reach out towards him, eyes heavily lidded as you watch him along the length of your pillow.

His head resting on the spare cushion you normally wrap your arms around, Sans hesitates for the first time in a while, then mimics the gesture. Your hands meet beneath the blankets, and his long fingers are just as cold as his feet when you intertwine your own around them.

One thing you've come to notice over the course of these unusual dreams is the fact that Sans' hands and feet aren't quite like a normal skeleton's, which you find fascinating. Rather than having the metacarpals and metatarsals of his feet and hands exposed, his palms are made up of peculiar plates that fold and slide smoothly along one another. This being your first time actually holding them, you take the opportunity to explore them a little while using your efforts at warming them as an excuse to prolong contact.

When your curiosity is assuaged somewhat, you take his hands and pull them towards you, not noticing the way his eye sockets widen a little, then place them on either side of your sleep warmed face. "My face always gets crazy warm when I sleep," you explain with a somewhat shy smile when you realize how silly you must look to him.

To your surprise, Sans sweeps one of his thumbs along your cheek before saying, "yeah, it does."

Your heart rate quickens unexpectedly at the small, strangely intimate gesture and it suddenly occurs to you that while you've never been quite sure if you're physically attracted to Sans come each morning, right now in that soft, warm darkness with just the two of you huddled beneath the blankets, you're absolutely convinced you are.

To your mixed relief and disappointment, Sans withdraws his hands a moment later, though lets you keep his feet, which is probably for the best considering how cold they are. You tuck them between the calves of your legs without thinking as he asks, "so, how was your day, kiddo?"

"Pretty good," you say, wishing the heat in your face would go away. It's unrelenting under Sans' steady, attentive gaze, though, so you push on regardless. "Finally figured out what to do with that plot hole I've been wrestling."

"oh?" he replies, brow arching curiously. "what'd you decide?"

You smile. "Spoilers."

He rolls his eyes but chuckles and comments, "you spoil me just by warming me up when i visit. might as well keep up the trend."

You laugh and push him lightly under the blankets. "No wonder you're so rotten." He grins and you relent, unable to resist Sans in the least when he looks at you like that.

* * *

The next morning you make your usual notes in your dream journal over coffee and a few pancakes. You hesitate as you recall your reaction to the simple feeling of Sans' thumb across your cheek as you held his hands to your face, and the memory makes your stomach tighten uncomfortably.

You're beginning to think you might be falling for a skeleton that exists only in your imagination.

Not sure what to do with this realization, you shut your journal with a snap and sigh as you get dressed for the day. Maybe you should try online dating if you're dreaming up strange men like this. You might have plenty of friends to talk to, but you haven't been in a romantic relationship for over three years now, and you wonder if _that_ might not be the root of all these strange dreams.

Just like your dream predicted, it had snowed last night (had you woken at some point and noticed, which then influenced your dream?), so you pull your snow boots off the shoe rack by the door and drag them on. Once they're laced, you don the rest of your winter gear and open the front door, pausing to admire to view.

There's a good six inches of snow on the ground, and you can tell by the bite to the air that, this time, all that white powder isn't going anywhere. You take a nice, deep breath, then exhale slowly, grinning at the plume of white that escapes your mouth before glancing down to make sure you're not about to slip and break your neck on your own front step.

What you see there, however, brings you up short, one foot lifted in preparation for that first step into winter. Behind you, Lucy whines, impatient to be outside so she can frolic in the fresh snowfall, but you ignore her.

There, in the otherwise untouched snow on your front porch, are footprints. Footprints that lead directly into, and then out of, _your house._ The ones leading away are noticeably fresher than those leading in, and you know just by looking at them that their owner did, in fact, enter your home. The way only a quarter of one is visible is a tell-tale sign; the other three-quarters presumably having landed on the door jamb, which would be impossible without the door being open…

Your eyes follow the footsteps back away from your house and notice how they originate somewhere past your driveway, then lead away north from your house. Without thinking, you plunge out the door, slamming it behind you, and track the footsteps leading away from your cabin and into the woods that surround your home. Lucy barks and gallavants along behind you, but again you have no attention to spare her, your conscious mind too shocked by the revelation it is trying very, _very_ hard not to recognize as possible.

You follow the footprints for half a mile, only to skid to a stop when you lose the trail. It shouldn't be possible. You're in the center of an open clearing full of untouched virgin snow, but halfway across, the footprints just… stop. You look around wildly, as though expecting to find someone overhead in the trees laughing at you, but there's no one there except you and Lucy, who has given up on bounding about excitedly and is now seated at your heel, whining in concern.

You want to ask yourself who was in your house; want to scream it to the sky. Your hands are shaking though, and you _know_ the answer, however impossible it may seem.

It was Sans.

Sans was real.

A skeleton has been breaking into your house, and sneaking into your bed.

 _You've been sleeping with a real, live (?!) skeleton for weeks._

"What the _**FUCK!?**_ "

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks for reading! Make sure to leave a review to let me know if you liked it and why! I absolutely LIVE for that!

Now, **for the important question:**

What sort of bonus scene would you guys like to see from the perspective of someone besides Reader? This first one I think is pretty straight forward, and I'll probably be writing a little something from Sans' pov on how he first wound up sneaking int Reader's house, but I'm open to suggestions! **The best way to make a suggestion is to leave an ask on my undertale tumblr, jolie-in-the-underground** , so please do so! I'd love to know what you guys are most interested in finding out about! I'll be keeping up this trend every chapter and then posting the result on said tumblr, so make sure to follow it! I'll probably amass them all in one big final chapter posting, or maybe as a side fic once all is said and done.


	2. It's just a thing

**AN:** Hey guys, sorry for posting this a day late! It turns out that we won't be getting internet installed in my new place until august 22nd so I think I'll push the publishing date to wednesdays for the time being so I can use the wifi to post while I'm on break at work XD

Thank so SO MUCH to everyone that left a review last chapter, they were such a great pick me up and left me feeling all warm and fuzzy ;w; Make sure to do the same this time around, I swear they 100 percent help me keep writing!

 **Also** , be sure to follow me on tumblr at jolie-in-the-underground for sneak peeks of upcoming chapters and fics, fanart, and general Undertale content!

* * *

 **Winter in your Bones  
** Chapter Two: It's just a thing

The day passes you by in a distracted blur, but you must have done your chores because when you glance out the window that evening you see Merlin munching contentedly on fresh feed in his stall out back. You blink and look down at your hands and realize that you're currently doing the dishes, though you don't recall starting them.

Hell, you didn't even notice eating the ramen you apparently made.

Lucy whines piteously behind you and you glance around as you set aside the dish you've been washing and see her laying beside her empty bowl gazing up at you mournfully.

"Right, sorry, pup," you apologize to the dog and drag the sealed bin of kibble out of the closet then fill her waiting bowl. As Lucy chows down, you rub her ears absently and finally force your shocked mind to focus.

Alright, so you've been a bit of an idiot, apparently, and have been letting a strange skeleton into your house (and bed) at least twice a week for at least two months. What are you going to do about it?

Well, now isn't _that_ just the question of the year?

You're tempted to call your mother and pour out the whole story to her, but immediately rein in the impulse. Not only would you literally _never_ live it down with her, your extended family, or any of your friends, you're certain your father would be up here in a heartbeat to not only drag you home, but hunt Sans down and do him grievous bodily harm.

The thought of Sans coming to some injury because of you or yours makes you flinch. At first you're surprised at how vehemently against the idea you are. He has, after all, been breaking into your house and taking advantage of your kindness and vulnerable state for his own gains. Sort of. You _had_ told him it was alright, and he'd sure been ready to leave any time he so much as thought you might be hinting he was unwelcome…

On the other hand, what the fuck had he been doing in your house to begin with?

Before you can decide just how you are going to proceed, you decide you need an explanation. For Sans' sake it had better be _a damn good one_ or you won't be needing your father's assistance when it comes to inflicting serious bodily harm on the skeleton.

How to confront him, though? It's not as though you know where he lives. In all the conversations you've had, he's never once mentioned it. This strikes your waking mind as somewhat suspicious, but then, you realize you never asked either. That means waiting until he shows up of his own accord, which you know from experience won't be tonight.

Sans never shows up two nights in a row, and never more than twice a week, after all. Now you wonder why. It's an oddly specific pattern for someone breaking and entering to adhere to.

Just to be certain you don't have to worry about confronting the skeleton _tonight,_ you check through your journal and realize that the pattern is even more specific than that. The very soonest he's ever returned is three days after his previous visit, and of the nearly eight weeks you've known him, for seven he's come by the same day that you make your trip into town.

Could that be the key to the pattern? Is he stopping by your house on the way to or (more likely) from town? You suppose that makes sense. He's always so very _cold_ when he crawls into bed with you, making you think he must have been outside for some time every night. Even lacking the fundamentals of a body as he is it would take some time for bone to become that chill to the touch.

Again you wonder where Sans lives. If he _is_ stopping by on nights he's gone to town then he must live somewhere relatively close by, but you can't imagine where. You're the only one around for miles, and what distant neighbors you have you are on a first name basis with. Maybe he's squatting somewhere up in the mountains… he'd hardly be the first, though now you wonder if maybe he's doing so on your family's land.

You're not sure how you feel about that idea, so you file it away for later once you've figured out how you feel about _him._

It's getting late now, so you get ready for bed and crawl under the blankets with your phone. Comfortable in your certainty that you won't be having a late night visitor tonight, you pull up google and do a search on monsters. In retrospect, you're feeling like a bit of an idiot for not immediately guessing Sans was a monster rather than just some magical skeleton your subconscious dreamed up to fill an unknown hole in your life. In your defense, you think that if he had looked like literally _anything else_ you would have come to the 'monster' conclusion far sooner. There's just something so very… _human_ about a skeleton. It's like a monster blind spot because skeletons were, after all, _almost_ human, right? Add some bits on top and you had a functioning human being right there.

Your google search turns up mixed results, though you're not surprised by this. Monsters had started filtering up from the Underground over a year ago now, and are still a polarizing topic. Urban areas have, predictably, been far more welcoming to the sudden return of these once banished people than their rural neighbors. Since the initial surge of monsters coming to the surface, though, the flow has died off to a trickle. Apparently there are not only some who refused to leave what had become their familiar home in the first place, but there are others who have gone so far as to move _back_.

You flip through links of monster sighting blogs with both positive and negative bents. Doxing monsters has become a nasty new sport for the worst corners of the internet that the government has gone so far as to take a hard stance _against_ as of six months ago _,_ to the surprise of many _._ The crime comes with jail time and a hefty fine these days, which you quite approve of. You'd never actually met a monster until Sans, you're embarrassed to admit, but then they are such a small minority, and you live out in the middle of nowhere, so it's hardly surprising. Honestly, all things considered, you're more surprised that you _have._

You're not entirely sure what you were hoping to turn up with your search, so after adding a local filter and finding no news about monsters in your area you close the window and browse your usual sites until the wifi cuts out again and you drift off to sleep.

* * *

Of course. _Of course_ this would be the week that Sans would choose to visit only once.

The first two nights after you realize that Sans is a real live monster rather than some figment of your imagination, you sleep fine. Every night after that, however, even _your_ prodigious sleeping abilities are challenged by the fit of nerves you find yourself beset by at the prospect of confronting the skeleton, meaning you get barely a wink over the next few days.

Large quantities of coffee is all that gets you through your chores come the beginning of each new day, and you wind up napping halfway through regardless, completely throwing off your sleep schedule. You barely write two pages of your novel, and Lucy takes to following you around twenty-four seven, apparently convinced you're going to fall down at any moment. She might be right, as you nearly topple right off Merlin when you go out for a ride one afternoon and fall asleep in the saddle.

By the time you make it into town that week, you're a hot, anxious mess, and the barista at your favorite coffee shop says as much. You give her a flat look as you take your butterscotch mocha with extra whip cream from her, but she just smiles. Jenny's a friend of yours, though, so instead of stomping off in a huff you tip her as per usual and admit, "Yeah, haven't been getting any sleep lately."

"Oh?" she asks, eyebrows shooting up before a sly sort of smile creeps over her features. "Got someone keeping you up nights lately?"

"Yeah," you say and take a sip of your drink, completely missing her innuendo in your sleep deprived state. With your hair dragged up into a messy bun and wearing your frumpiest hoodie you still look like a hot mess, but the mocha at least helps you _feel_ a little less like one.

Jenny lets out a low, appreciative whistle. "Damn. Hook me up with some of _that,_ " she says a little wistfully as she wipes down the espresso machine.

You turn to look at her, confused. "Huh?" you begin, and then your brain finally catches up. "Oh!" you exclaim, then laugh. "God, no. Fuck me, _I wish,_ " you say and laugh some more, and she joins in.

Jenny grins and lifts her water bottle to you in toast and says, "Well, here's to an end of the dry spell for both of us then."

A smile twists your lips and you return the gesture before saying your goodbyes and leaving the coffee shop.

You get your errands done with more haste than normal, though you're not sure why you rushed by the time you get home. Surely lingering in town would have been a better idea than sitting around at home waiting for Sans to inevitably show up. Maybe the thought that you might accidentally bump into the skeleton while going about your errands was what chased you away so soon. It's silly thought, of course. It isn't like you have before now, and if your guess is right, you've been going to town on the same day every week as the skeleton for quite some time. Town is huge, after all, surrounded by a lot of nothing though it may be.

The afternoon drags on into the evening and you are assaulted by the curious sensation of time going by both entirely to fast, and far too slow as you wait for the inevitable confrontation. You're stressed to the point of feeling ill, and the way Lucy is following you around everywhere is only adding to that. You pick at your dinner, and then stare at your novel's word doc for two hours without putting down a single sentence before finally standing up from your desk and going to your bed.

You refuse to get into your pajamas, deciding that wearing your usual ancient baggy t-shirt and shorts will put you at a conversational disadvantage. It's hard to take anyone with a cartoon dancing crab on their shirt seriously, especially when that shirt is almost transparent with age. So you keep wearing your somewhat battered blue hoodie with the missing drawstring and white star decal on the chest, and a pair of jeans. You certainly weren't about to dress _up_ for this, in any case.

Tired beyond belief but not expecting to sleep, you flip off the overhead light and drop onto your mattress, then roll over to your back to stare at the ceiling. Around you, the cabin creaks quietly, a familiar sound that takes the edge off your nerves and lets you take a deep breath to calm yourself at long last. You feel like you've been going a hundred miles an hour all day, despite not doing much of anything at all besides a little shopping.

The wind picked up something fierce not long after you got home, and now it roars around the eaves of your little cabin, seeking a way in, but finding none. It's still going strong enough to slam the door open hours later, waking you from your doze with a start.

You don't even remember dropping off, and you're rubbing fitfully at your eyes with the back of your hand when a familiar, dreaded voice says, "shit, sorry about that," barely audible over the howl of the wind. You go rigid as Sans wrestles the door shut and locks it once more, then sit bolt upright, feeling as though you've been struck by lightning when he approaches the bed after taking a moment to kick off his shoes.

Your every fiber jangling with the internal alarm bells that sleep and your own naivete have muffled up until this point in your relationship with the skeleton, you jump up out of bed with a speed that startles Sans.

"what's up, kid?" he asks as you make for the light switch and flip it on without saying a word. He winces a little at the sudden change in lighting and asks, " _blowing_ me off, sweetheart?" he jokes, though there's a note of concern to his voice.

You turn to look at him, and you realize it's your first time truly seeing him, if not by the light of day, then at least by light of lamp. Sans is standing at the foot of your bed, half-way out of his blue down jacket with an expression on his face that is a solid mix of confusion and amusement. He's about your height, though maybe an inch or two shorter, it's hard to tell with most of the room between the two of you. He's wearing his usual gray sweatshirt and black trackpants, the familiar lights of his eyes watching you carefully as he finishes sliding out of his jacket and hooks it over his arm rather than turning away to hang it by the door like he usually does.

"D-don't sweetheart me!" you stammer, annoyed at the slip up, but you push on regardless. "You have some explaining to do!"

"do I?" he asks warily, and though he doesn't so much as take a step, something about him shifts, giving the skeleton a guarded air. Perhaps it's in the lines of his face, or the way he holds his shoulders. You can't quite put a finger on it, you're not used to seeing him this clearly, or, you know, _vertical._

The thought makes you blush, and he quirks a brow at this. "Yes!" you exclaim, and wrong footed by his guarded amusement at your expense, you demand, "What are you doing in my house?!"

He blinks, and the expression of hurt that flashes briefly across Sans' face hits you like a punch to the gut. His eyes leave yours and refuse to meet them again as he says, "hey, kid, if tonight's no good, you just have to say so."

You stare at him, feeling petty and mean as the skeleton slips back into his jacket and zips it up with short, sharp movements. You don't think you're imagining how upset the motions make him look, which only makes you feel like _more_ of a jerk. You want to apologize, but at the same time…

You need answers.

"Wait," you say before Sans is even halfway to the door. You hurry forward and catch him by the sleeve of his jacket, stopping his forward progress and forcing him to turn. The flat look he gives you stings more than you'd like to admit, like a slap across the face.

When had you started to care so much about what he thought of you?

"I'm sorry for shouting," you say, though your apology does little to ease the intensity of Sans' gaze as he watches you. "I… I think there's been a misunderstanding," you add, voice gone small and awkward as your blush returns full force.

"about what?" he asks, though his posture shifts so he faces you more openly now, your grip on his jacket no longer needed to hold him there.

You flounder for a moment, opening your mouth to speak before snapping it shut again. Standing there in front of him trying to confess the truth, you feel stupid. Like… _really stupid._ What the hell kind of person can carry on an entire friendship (you _were_ friends, right? Well, maybe not after this...) while half asleep and wake up the next morning thinking it's all a dream? You've said some stupid things in your sleep before according to just about everyone you've ever known, but this is the icing, cherry, _and_ sprinkles on top of this whole moronic cake.

"trying to catch flies there, sweetheart?" he teases when you continue silent, though you can tell he's getting impatient. Not only that, he's feeling awkward too, you realize.

Somehow, it's that thought that helps you finally speak again. "I, um… I didn't realize you were real until last week," you blurt out all at once, your blush intensifying to take over your entire face as he just stares at you, uncomprehending.

"come again?" he says eventually, words slow and measured as you fidget anxiously with your fingers and chew your bottom lip.

You sigh uncomfortably and shove your hands into the pocket of your hoodie to keep from picking at your fingernails and try to clarify. "So I, uh… I have this _thing-_ " his expression turns wary and perturbed and you groan and hunch your shoulders. "It's just a sleep thing!" you hurry to say before he gets any weird ideas.

"a sleep thing," he repeats, and you nod.

"Right, a sleep thing! It's super dumb, but I can, like… carry on entire conversations while being asleep? And then not… remember, really… _any_ of it come morning," you say, feeling as though the skeleton's star-like eyes are dragging each word out of you by the root.

"uh-huh," Sans says, clearly not comprehending until: "oh. oh _**shit**_ _._ "

He's really staring at you now, eye sockets wide and eyelights turned to tiny pinpricks of horror as the full weight of your explanation settles in. "Yeah," you say with a grimace, embarrassment churning in your gut.

Sans lifts a hand and pushes at his furrowed brow with the flat of his thumb and asks, "do you… do you remember _anything?_ " he asks, seeming utterly mortified. "do you remember who i am?"

"You're Sans," you answer immediately, and the skeleton's horror seems to fade at least a little, which you decide is a good thing. "And I remember some?" you admit, tone apologetic as Sans closes his eyes and keeps pushing at that little wrinkle as he struggles to absorb this strange turn of events. "It's kinda like trying to remember a dream," you explain with a vague wave of your hand. "I get bits and pieces, but most of it is a blur."

The monster laughs, the sound bubbling up from deep in his chest, its peculiar, wonderful resonance sending a shiver right up your spine. "of course," he mutters to himself, "i finally..." he pauses, and then in a louder tone meant for you, asks, "who even _does_ that?"

"It's just a thing!" you exclaim defensively and poke him sharply in the shoulder. You regret it, though, as the hard bone of his humerus doesn't give in the slightest and bends your finger back instead. You shake your hand, and before he can laugh, you demand, "Who just breaks into someone else's house and cuddles up in bed with them, huh?" He flinches, and you press your advantage. "Yeah, don't think I don't have some questions about _that,_ mister!" You almost poke him again on impulse, but catch yourself before you do. "I may sleep-talk, but I sure as hell don't sleep-let-strangers-into-the-house-in-the-middle-of-the-night!"

Sans throws his hands up between you defensively, "alright, alright," he says quickly, finally looking a little embarrassed himself. The sight eases some of your own, and you cross your arms over your chest as he continues, "i can explain."

"Good!" you say with a bit of a huff. "It'd better be good because trust me, I've been waiting _all week_ to hear this!"

He winces again, but nods and takes a moment to collect himself. Since he gave you the same opportunity initially, you do the same, and don't even comment when he wanders over to your bed and seats himself on the edge of the mattress. You move closer to hear what he has to say, but stay standing.

Sans sighs and rubs the back of his skull absently, the bones of his hand scraping softly against the hard surface. "you remember how i said i don't exactly have a lot of meat on my bones to keep me warm?" he asks, and it's a genuine question now that he knows you don't remember a lot of your past interactions.

You think for a moment, and the question jogs your memory, so you nod.

"well, i wasn't kidding," he continues with a grimace that contorts the hard lines of his face. "ever since fall started up i've been struggling to keep warm," he admits, seeming embarrassed by this fact. "that night i came into your-"

"Broke into," you correct with a sniff and his mouth twists wrly in response. "How did you manage that?" you ask suspiciously. It was one thing you hadn't been able to figure. Another was why Lucy had never so much as barked every time Sans showed up. Noticing the adoring way she is watching the monster now, though, it occurs to you that anyone who is literally _made_ of her favorite kind of chew toy probably wouldn't even begin to register as a threat to the dog.

Sans hesitates for a long moment, then seems to decide that it's best to be upfront and glances back at your door. There's a brief flash of cyan light and the bolt slides back, allowing the door to fly open with a bang and a gust of wind that immediately sucks the heat out of the room. You yelp and jump back in surprise at the sudden onslaught of cold even as a second flash of light snaps the door shut again and locks it tight.

You stare at the door, and then at Sans, whose eyes are on his hands where they dangle between his knees. "You can open doors with your _mind?!_ " you demand incredulously.

He glances up at you and a smile is tugging at his mouth once more as he replies, "i can do plenty of things 'with my mind', sweetheart." Before you can so much as ask, every piece of furniture in your room with the exception of your work desk suddenly glows cyan and rises six inches off the ground, then drops back down with a loud thud that makes you and the dog both yelp. Several wolf-like skulls appear from nowhere and rattle their pointed teeth at you and Lucy, making you squeak in alarm and the dog bolt into the kitchen with a distressed whine.

"Okay, okay, enough!" you exclaim, and the skulls disappear as though they had never been there in the first place. You sidle awkwardly in place as Sans watches you with a lopsided grin and you scowl at him for his teasing. "Okay, so, a _magical_ skeleton monster breaks into my house. Why? Because you were cold?" you ask skeptically.

Sans shrugs and flops back onto the bed, hands behind his head. "pretty much," he says. He cracks open an eye socket to glance at you and sees your dissatisfaction with his answer, so he continues before you can object. "i wasn't just _cold,_ " he admits. "it's like… " he thinks for a moment, clearly searching for the right words. "like reptiles being attracted to heat," he manages finally. Your skeptical brow lift makes him sigh again. "look, i was walking back from the road with a bunch of groceries, and i was already plenty cold from the ride in the back of the truck. the walk just kinda..." he waves vaguely. "did me in. i got so cold i couldn't think straight, and when i saw the light from your cabin through the trees i went straight for it without even realizing."

You shift uncertainly in place and weigh his words. You've been watching him closely as he speaks, and he doesn't _seem_ like he's lying. He just seems embarrassed, really, which you can't exactly blame him for. Eventually, you sigh and sit on the bed next to him. Sans is watching you with both eyes open now, waiting for your reaction. "So," you begin slowly. "You broke into my house and climbed into bed with me because you were so cold you couldn't think straight?" you summarize.

Sans considers for a moment, then huffs and says, "when you say it like that it sounds like the biggest lie this side of the self help aisle, but… yeah."

You glance down at him, and for the first time that evening you smile. "A bit," you admit. "But… not a whole lot worse than mine."

"your's _is_ pretty absurd," he agrees.

"Hey now, let's not get judgy here, lizard brain."

Sans laughs, and the tension in your chest eases some. You're alright. Everything will be alright.

You both sit in silence for a moment, and then the monster pushes himself upright and gets to his feet. "alright, i should go," he says as he heads for the door and grabs his shoes.

"What?" you say and get to your feet as well. "You can't go, the wind is absolutely _howling_ out there, you'll freeze!"

Sans glances back over his shoulder at you, and the play of emotions that crosses his features in that unguarded second are too fast for you to track, but you know he's surprised at your concern.

"At least stay for a little while," you say with a worried frown. You don't want him to leave; you want to talk more, to take some time to really get to know him while you're properly _awake._ See if the friendship you started in your sleep can stand up to the light of day…

"i'm-" he hesitates, then laughs a little. "i'm not sure i should fall for this again."

"Fall nothing," you say with an expressive roll of your eyes. "We've already-" and now it's your turn to hesitate. Without thinking, you chew absently at your thumbnail a moment before dragging it from your mouth. "I know this um… _friendship_ got off to a weird start and all, what with me sleeping and you creeping-"

"i did _not_ creep!" he exclaims, though his tone is lighter now, hopeful even.

"You creeped a bit, man, don't even try to deny it," you insist, and he just rolls his eyes and shoves his hands into his pockets. "Anyways, I guess I'd really like if we could keep being friends," you continue hurriedly, words tumbling out all in a rush in an effort to get them said before your embarrassment finally catches up with you again.

He regards you with that same unreadable expression again, and you find yourself struggling not to fidget as you wait for him to make up his mind. Eventually, a soft huff of a laugh escapes him once more and he drops his shoes by the door. "alright," he says, smiling more to himself than you as he unzips his jacket, then turns and hangs it on the rack by the door. "i'd, uh… i'd like that, kid."

The rest of the tension slides from your shoulders and you find yourself quite unable to contain the wide grin that overtakes your face. "Great!" you exclaim brightly, then immediately dial back on the cheer when he turns and quirks a brow at you, his own smile twisting a little with amusement. "So, uh… you like tea?" you ask. Your brow furrows for a moment as you try to work out the logistics of a skeleton drinking tea and you ask, "Do you… do you even _drink?_ "

Sans just laughs again. "what kind you got?"

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks for reading, guys! Make sure to drop a review and let me know what you thought! It only takes a moment and SERIOUSLY makes my day and feeds my muse! You _do_ want more, right? XD


	3. Kindred Spirits (of the garbage variety)

**AN:** Thanks so much to those of you who have been leaving reviews for me! You are absolute saints and I love every one of you! Please keep up the efforts, it only takes a moment and it really helps me keep writing!

 **Winter in Your Bones  
** Chapter Three: Kindred Spirits (of the garbage variety)

You talk until you're yawning and dawn is threatening on a horizon obscured by the mountains among which you make your home. Mostly Sans refreshes your memory on what you've already spoken of in the weeks past, and laughs at the fact that you mostly react the same way the second time around. He's surprisingly patient with you, and you appreciate the gesture, immensely relieved that you didn't scare him off and the two of you have a chance to start anew.

When he tries to leave for the second time around five o'clock in the morning, you don't stop him. You're too tired to stay awake another minute but you're not at a point where you're comfortable inviting him to sleep in your bed again. The revelation is too fresh, and you get the feeling he won't accept regardless.

Before he leaves, he pauses at the door and mentions casually that he's planning to go to town again in a few days. Sleep fogged though your mind is, you still catch his drift and readily extend an invitation for him to stop by then, glad he thought to say something so he doesn't wind up thinking you don't want him around.

Because you _do_ want him around.

Sans smiles when he leaves and you watch him go from the door, waving when he glances back briefly just shy of the tree-line. You can't make out his expression from that distance, but he raises a hand in turn, and then disappears from sight.

After that you sleep. Days of going without render you mostly useless for the rest of the day, though you force yourself out of bed around one to see to Merlin and Lucy. The next morning you wake up a little late, but have a productive day of writing, which makes you happy. All the stress of worrying over the Sans 'situation' has completely left you and seems to have freed up your muse. So much so that over the next couple of days you completely catch up to your self imposed writing schedule, and then some.

The day of Sans' supposed return you're practically bouncing off the walls the way you used to as a child when you had weekend plans for a sleepover. You keep telling yourself you're being ridiculous, you _just_ saw him the other day, but the mantra does nothing to rein in your excitement. It's snowing today, so besides going on a morning ride with Merlin, you spend the better part of it cooped up indoors.

Writing happens in spurts; every time your flow falters you decide to clean some other nook of your tiny cabin until it's practically gleaming. After the fact you look around and grimace, hoping Sans doesn't notice the effort and think you're trying too hard. You're not really a neat freak on a normal day, though the space is too small to not keep things at least minimally tidy. Dusting isn't something you do often, though, and when you find yourself standing on a chair to dust along the top of the window frame you realize just how ridiculous you're being.

On the other hand, there's an awful lot of dust up here...

You keep at it, and while you're shoulders deep in your main storage closet, you find some old clothes at the very back in a box from back when you used to visit as a teenager. You hold up a flannel shirt, and while it's too small for you now thanks to the way you bloomed during puberty, it occurs to you that it looks about the right size for Sans. You haven't grown much in height since you left the clothes here, and as you sort through the rest of the box, you realize most of the contents are from that era. Granted, most of it is _far_ too girly for your skeleton friend, but maybe a few things…

By the end of your cleaning spree, you've salvaged two flannel shirts (one dark blue plaid and the other a solid green), a pair of carhartt pants, and an old, red trapper hat you're pretty sure is lined with real shorn beaver pelt. You don't remember anyone in your family ever wearing it, so you figure it might as well go to someone who needs it, and you've plenty of winter hats of your own already.

You fold the lot up into a neat pile with the hat on top, and then hesitate, wondering if maybe foisting your hand-me-downs off on Sans isn't a little too forward. The fact that he always under dresses for the weather despite his own admitted weakness to the cold makes you think that maybe he just doesn't _have_ anything better, though, and here you are with extra… Still, monsters are people too and they have their pride.

In the end, you put the collection back in the closet and decide to play things by ear.

Around ten you lay down and nap for a couple of hours since trend dictates that Sans won't arrive until sometime after one in the morning. Though you're certain you won't get a wink, cleaning apparently tired you out more than you thought because you jerk awake to the sound of your alarm at one. For once you don't hit snooze and roll directly out of bed, then head into the bathroom.

You stare at yourself in the mirror for a long minute as you debate putting on make-up. That would be too much, right? That would be weird? You've literally never worn make-up any other time you've seen him, so surely it'd be strange to do so now? On the other hand, you've also been _asleep_ every other time you've seen Sans so you're not entirely sure where that leaves you on the weird/not weird front.

In the end you decide to go with some mascara and call it good. You never have had the patience for foundation, let alone contouring, so your approach to make-up has _always_ been a little laissez faire. This is less than you'd usually wear going out, but more than the average day when the only 'people' having to put up with your face are a dog and a horse. You figure you're golden when you finish off your look with a soft, thick magenta sweater that reaches to mid-thigh, and a pair of black leggings.

You nearly jump out of your skin a few minutes later when someone knocks at the door.

When you answer it, you blink to see Sans standing there waiting rather than simply letting himself in like he usually does. "You knocked," you say, stating the obvious, still thrown by this.

Sans smiles wryly and shrugs. "figured since i was properly invited and all, a little knocking was in order."

"How very thoughtful," you say, amused as you step aside and let him in.

"'s my middle name," he remarks as he steps inside and kicks off his shoes while you close the door behind him.

"Is it?"

"nah. monsters don't even do last names. hard to have a middle one if there's nothing to sandwich it between."

You make a thoughtful sound at this information. You've read about the fact that monsters don't usually do surnames, but it's just one of those things you don't think of until it comes up in conversation. It's easy to forget sometimes that there's few enough monsters in the world that they don't feel a need to differentiate themselves by family names.

Your line of thought is derailed when Sans hands you a six pack of bottles and you accept it automatically, freeing him up to strip out of his jacket and hang it up. "i wasn't sure what you liked," he says, "so i just got one of those mix-n-match packs with a few different things."

"Ooh, _very_ thoughtful," you say and meander over to the kitchen as you look at the options. Finding something that sounds good, you pull it out only to realize the cap isn't twist off. Before you can reach for the drawer where you know the bottle opener is, though, there's a brief flash of cyan light and the top pops off with a hiss and a plink as it lands neatly in Sans' hand.

You glance at him, wide-eyed with surprise, then laugh at his smug grin. "Show off," you tease before taking a sip of your drink. He just shrugs, and while he does not move to take a drink of his own, you do notice his eyes drift back to your bed. You almost start to blush until you remember that he's come a long way through the snow and is probably still freezing, hence his aversion to the beer.

"You want some tea?" you offer and set aside your drink to rummage through your cabinets. "Oh, or hot cocoa? Might have some cider packets in here too..."

You don't see it, but Sans brightens at the offer, then immediately masks the reaction with a careless shrug and smile. "tea's good." When you pull out a mug and start to fill it from the sink, though, he winces and asks, "you got a kettle?"

"Yeah, why?" you ask, glancing back at him over your shoulder. You see the way he's eying the mug in your hand and you say, "Oh god, you're one of those tea snobs that don't like the water microwaved, aren't you?"

"it just _tastes better,_ " he insists and you roll your eyes hugely. He steps into the kitchen after you and relieves you of the cup while you stoop and pull an aged and battered, but clean, kettle out from one of the lower cabinets.

"Sorry," you say drolly. "Didn't realize I was hosting a magical _British_ skeleton monster this evening."

Sans sticks the kettle in the sink to fill and then passes you your drink, "cheers, poppet," he says and grins when he startles a laugh out of you.

"Lord, bet you watch BBC and everything, don't you?"

The skeleton's face twists into an expression of wry amusement and you know you've got him dead to rights. "What's your favorite show?" you ask and lean against the nearest bit of counter, still grinning as you take another sip of your beer. Your kitchen is small, barely enough for you to move around it by yourself, so with the two of you in there you're practically knee-to-knee once Sans puts his water on to boil and leans against the stove.

He's thoughtful for a moment, eyelights rolling up to regard the ceiling as he thinks before eventually answering, "the great british baking show."

You nearly choke on your mouthful of beer at his answer. You were giving him a lot of flack for watching British television, but you had a few favorite shows yourself so you were familiar. "Seriously?" you ask with a shit-eating grin that makes Sans' own smile widen in response. "Do you like to bake?"

"not really," he replies with an amused snort. "everyone on that show's just so… pleasant. it's nice."

You're forced to agree with him. You're guilty of watching episodes on netflix yourself when the wifi gods are smiling and you're feeling down. Before you can say as much, Sans reaches out and brushes a drop of beer from the corner of your mouth, left over from when you nearly choked on it. "supposed to drink that, not spit it," he informs you. Then, possibly without realizing, he licks his thumb clean as he turns and pulls the whistling kettle off the stove.

You try very hard not to stare at him and cover your flustered discomfiture by saying in your very driest tone, "Thanks, mom."

He ignores you and goes about making his tea with practiced, precise movements that are hindered only by his unfamiliarity with your kitchen. Sans is wearing his usual hoodie and trackpants, and your mind goes to the clothes you have set aside in the closet. You push the thought away for now, though, and ask, "You hungry?"

"i could eat," he says as he turns off the stovetop and leans back against the oven so he's knee-to-knee with you again, warm cup cradled in his pale hands. "what d'ya got?"

You twist in place so you can look in the refrigerator, but have to take a step back to open it, which in turn forces Sans to side-step, though your shoulder still winds up brushing his. "Mmm, I've got some leftover meatloaf, hot dogs, the makings for ramen, spaghetti-"

" _no spaghetti,_ " Sans says with such energy that you actually look back at him, both eyebrows shooting up. That curious blue blush of his makes a come-back as he clears his throat and says, "sorry, i just, uh… i eat a lot of spaghetti."

Confused but thoroughly amused, you say, "That's alright, I had it last night anyways." You struggle not to smile but fail. "Why don't you just… eat it less though?"

Sans fiddles with the tab of his teabag and closes his eyes as he sighs the most put-upon sigh you think you have ever witnessed. "my brother's always making it, so it's that or i actually cook something myself, and..."

"Laziness trumps all, huh?" You ask, grinning.

He cracks an eye and looks at you, a wry smile playing across his lips. "you got my number, sweetheart."

You chuckle and turn back to the fridge to hide the faint blush blooming across your features. You like it when he calls you sweetheart, you realize. Normally you find the term of endearment belittling, but when Sans says it… you don't know. Maybe it's that voice of his that makes it sound so much nicer than when literally anyone else tries to use it.

"Well, if you don't like any of that, I've got a frozen pizza, too," you offer and tug open the freezer.

"what kind?"

"Hawaiian."

Sans puts a hand to his chest and closes his eyes as though you just said something incredibly profound. "bless you," he says. "I knew i sensed a kindred spirit in you, kid. you're my favorite sort of garbage human being, you know that?"

You throw your head back and laugh at his proclamation. "Shut up," you say and wipe away tears of mirth from the corners of your eyes, careful not to make a mess of your mascara.

"what? i'm serious," he says with a wicked sort of smile. "bet you like watching syfy original movies too."

You give a scandalized gasp at his accusation and try to feign offense as you pull the pizza out and shut the freezer. You fail, however, and break out into laughter once more. "Alright, alright, I guess you've got my number too."

He does a cheesy snap and point and you push him out of the way of the oven so you can preheat it. "hey, watch the tea, sugar," he complains when you proceed to push him right out of the kitchen and towards the couch.

With your hands on his shoulders, you can feel the cold that still lingers in his bones, so rather than join him on the sofa once he sits, you turn to the small fireplace next to it. You generally keep a fire laid and ready to go for whenever you feel the inclination, and luckily that holds true now as well. Your cabin has an electric heating system, but you do love a good fire, so sometimes you substitute and save a little on electricity. Besides, this time of year power outages are common, and starting a fire is easier than going out to crank up your emergency generator.

"you don't have to-" Sans begins to say, then stops when the kindling catches and you coax the little flame into a proper fire in the course of a few moments. "nevermind," he muses, impressed.

You grin at him as you climb onto the couch from your place on the floor. "Yeah, I may have done this a few times," you muse and drag your feet up under you on the sofa cushion.

The both of you sit in silence and watch the fire for a moment, enraptured by its flickering glow as man has ever been since the dawn of time. You look around then and notice that you left your drink in the kitchen. You groan and Sans looks to see what the problem is. Just as you're about to haul yourself back to your feet, your errant beer suddenly glows blue and drifts towards you and into your waiting hand.

"My _hero,_ " you tell Sans earnestly and take a sip as he smiles at you. "You know, it's good thing _I_ don't have magic or I'd probably literally never leave my sofa."

"i won't say i haven't had my lapses," Sans admits and sips his tea before sending the teabag flying away into the trash can. "my brother generally won't stand for too much of it, though," he muses with that put-upon but affectionate air once more.

"I know you've mentioned him before," you say foggily, meaning during your sleeping conversation before this evening. "What's his name again? Pap? Papy..."

"papyrus," Sans replies, sliding down a little among the cushions and stretching his legs out before him to get his feet closer to the fire. His eyes are heavily lidded, and his gaze is fixated on the fire once more as he lets his cup of tea rest on his chest.

"What's he like?" you prompt him gently, genuinely curious. Sans has mentioned him only in passing before from what you can remember, and you wonder what any brother of his would be like.

The skeleton is quiet, and for a minute you think he's not going to answer, but then he stirs from his fire gazing and turns his head to look at you. "a total nerd."

His straightforward answer pulls a laugh from you. "Gee, tell me what you really think," you muse as you lean your head against the back of the couch and smile at him, eyes bright with amusement.

Sans' gaze meets yours and his smile widens. "well, it's true. i mean it in the best way, of course. he just… gets _really_ into stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"all kinds," the monster remarks with a huff of amusement. "cars, puzzles, action figures..."

"Like picture puzzles?" you ask curiously, still smiling as you watch Sans talk about his absent brother. He'd called him a nerd, but you can tell that there's nothing but affection to the term for him, and you think it's beyond sweet.

"No, like mazes and stuff," Sans says, and sits up a little, careful not to spill tea down his front. "When we lived in the Underground he used to build literal mazes all over the place. Switch puzzles too." He grins. "And the action figures? He sculpts them himself." He pauses, embarrassed when he catches the way you're smiling at his gushing.

You wag a finger at him and say, "You're the big brother, aren't you?"

"yeah," he admits and fiddles absently with his cup. "that obvious, huh?"

Your smile widens and you nod, "You're so proud of him, it's adorable."

Torn between looking embarrassed and nonchalant, Sans shrugs. "he's a cool guy, what can i say?"

The preheat alert on the oven goes off then, so you take a moment to get up and put the pizza in the oven and set the timer. While you're in the kitchen, you say, "You should bring him by sometime, I'd love to meet him."

To your surprise, Sans does not immediately agree, and when you straighten from the oven and head back to the couch, you find him looking at your ceiling speculatively. "might be a tight fit," he says.

"Huh?"

The skeleton looks at you and asks, "what's your ceiling clearance in here?"

You blink in confusion, but answer, "I dunno. Eight feet, I think?"

Sans hums. "He'll have to stoop. I guess he could sit on the bed if you don't mind that… "

"How… How tall is your brother?" you ask finally.

"eight foot five," Sans answers and your jaw drops. He laughs at your expression then closes your mouth with a finger under your chin and says, "yeah, that's most people's reaction when they first meet pap."

" _Seriously?!_ " you ask incredulously, eyes darting from him to your ceiling, and back again. "But you're-"

"strikingly handsome? devilishly charming? a font of wit and-"

"So short!"

He heaves a sigh and rests one arm along the back of the couch and turns a little so he can look at you head on, apparently warm enough now that he no longer feels compelled to be as close to the fire as humanly (monsterly?) possible. "yeah, well," he says with a rueful smile and waves a hand at himself, "if i were this good looking _and_ tall, it just wouldn't be fair to the ladies, now would it?"

You laugh and slap a hand over your mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound. "Are you trying to say you got all the looks and he got all the height?"

Sans cants his head to one side and thinks before admitting, "sounds about right."

"Well, if this is all the looks between you, Papyrus must be an unfortunate creature indeed, poor dear," you tease, and Sans feigns a flinch.

"damn, sweetheart, that's brutal."

"You're the one that doomed your poor brother by stealing all the good looks, apparently," you retort lightly and finish off your beer.

"touche," he replies. "i'm sure he'll forgive me someday."

It's nice, you find, just spending a night in with a friend. The frozen pizza isn't the best quality, but with the addition of another beer or two, it goes down a treat. Sans joins in on the drinking once dinner is ready, and between you, you finish off his experimental six-pack. Some of them are better than others, and one of them is so bad you wind up sharing it between you just to get rid of it in a hurry.

You try not to think of the fact that there's only one degree of separation between your mouth and his as you share the awful beer. You do wonder if you're imagining the slight tingle you get on every sip you take directly after him, like he's leaving something behind that you're picking up.

Maybe it's that blue tongue of his. It almost seems to glow, if only faintly, and you wonder if it's made of magic. Just like the enigma of his eyelids and his lips, though, you don't quite have the guts to ask how it works. You promise yourself you will someday. You'll definitely need more than three beers to get you there, however, your tolerance being relatively high as it is.

Whatever that tingle is, it feels warm and pleasant to the point that one time when you accept the drink back from Sans, you rub the mouth of the bottle surreptitiously across your lips while he isn't looking. You relish the sensation, then take a proper sip of the beer and the feeling washes away.

Your guilty syfy pleasure is confirmed when Sans flips through your book of dvds and finds a copy of Tremors. You watch together on your couch, eating pizza, drinking beer, and laughing at Kevin Bacon and his tight, _tight_ jeans.

When Sans eventually leaves, you're yawning again, but you accompany him to the door regardless. You can't bring yourself to offer him the clothes since you haven't quite felt him out on the matter to your satisfaction yet, but you do ask, "Hey, are you going into town in a few days?"

Sans glances up from putting on his shoes and nods. "yeah, why? want company again?" he asks, lips quirking up in a grin.

"Sure," you say, brightening at the offer, glad that he did so, sparing you having to ask twice in a row and looking needy. "But I was actually gonna ask if you want a ride into town? I usually head in on Wednesdays too, so we could go together if you want."

The skeleton's eye sockets widen at the offer and he straightens. "you wouldn't mind?" he asks, and the hesitant note in his voice and posture doesn't go unnoticed by you.

"Not at all!" you answer hurriedly, excitedly shifting from foot to foot at the prospect. "It's a long drive. I'd be happy for the company."

Sans watches you a moment longer and you get the distinct impression that he's looking for something. You're not sure what, or if he found it, but whatever the case he relaxes a little and grins lazily. "yeah, alright sweetheart, sounds good."

Your smile widens and the two of you exchange phone numbers, but make specific plans on when to meet here at your cabin since cell coverage is so hit or miss among the mountains.

"See you Wednesday," you say as he opens the door and steps out into the frigid night air.

"wednesday," he agrees with a wink, then closes the door behind him.


	4. Pony up, kid

**AN:** GUESS WHO FINALLY HAS INTERNET AT HER NEW PLACE FUCK YEAAAAAAAAH! So, yeah, back to the usual Tuesday updates now that I don't have to mooch internet from the starbucks while on break at work XD

Remember to drop a review if you enjoyed, they really help me keep going with this whole fic writing biz! And thank so much to everyone who has left a comment so far! I don't always respond to all of them, but you bet your sweet bippy I read and appreciate every single one!

* * *

 **Winter in your Bones  
** Chapter Four: Pony up, kid

Wednesday arrives and you wake extra early so you can take Merlin on a ride before Sans shows up. Your horse is in high form when you head into the stable to saddle him, but Lucy seems to be in no mood to wade through the extra foot of snow that fell overnight, so she remains in the stable and you head out.

You make a circle of the lake at an easy pace, unwilling to risk Merlin taking a fall on a hidden patch of ice just for the sake of hurrying things along, then come up through the woods and hook south to make your way back towards the cabin. To your surprise, you see someone walking in the distance, so you urge your buckskin gelding into a quick trot to catch them up.

Sans hears you coming, the heavy chuff of Merlin's breathing echoing over the quiet expanse of mostly undisturbed snow a dead giveaway, even if his hoofbeats _are_ muffled by the same fall.

"Fancy meeting you here," you say with a broad smile as you reign your horse in and draw him to a stop next to the monster whose expression is a curious mix of surprise, amusement, and maybe just a hint of awe.

It all falls away when he flashes you a toothy grin and says, "howdy, cowgirl. out here trying to round me up, or… ?"

"Just coincidence," you say with a shake of your head, pulling Merlin up short when he tries to start forward again. "You want a ride?" you ask, noting that the snow in this part of the woods reaches past Sans' knees, forcing him to wade to your place more than walk.

The skeleton gives your horse a wary sideways glance while Merlin tosses his head impatiently and flicks his ears forward then back. The animal's nostrils flare, and it occurs to you that the scent of monster is probably something he's not used to yet. Well, no time like the present, you suppose.

"C'mon," you encourage Sans. "Helluva lot faster than walking. It'll take you another thirty minutes if you keep going at the rate you're going."

The monster looks ready to object to your estimate, but stops himself. Finally, he says, "yeah, alright, what the hell."

You grin and lean down to offer him your gloved hand, confident that you'll be able to lift him with relative ease. To your surprise, though, he waves off your help and says, "i've got it," and jumps up into the saddle behind you like it's nothing.

This, of course, startles Merlin to no end, and the horse jumps forward a pace, then circles hard, whipping around to get a look at who just snuck up behind him. "Ho, hold on there, boy!" you say in an attempt to soothe the creature, and only deft handling of the reins on your part keeps both you and Sans from tumbling right out of the saddle. "Easy now," you mutter and give Merlin a reassuring pat on the neck before twisting to squint at Sans, who you now register is clinging to you at the waist, holding on for dear life.

He winces and smiles apologetically as he eases his hold on you. "i don't think your pony likes me," he says.

"Please, do not _ever_ do that again," you say with a huge sigh, unable to be mad at him for his transgression. Plenty of humans didn't know their way around horses, and you're pretty sure they didn't even _have_ horses in the Underground, so you can't exactly blame him for not knowing how twitchy the animals were when they couldn't see what was going on around them. "You're lucky he didn't kick you in the chest," you say and nudge Merlin into a walk.

"sorry," Sans says, and though you're no longer twisted around to look at him, his voice sounds genuinely contrite. "large animals are… not my specialty," he admits.

"Yeah, I guessed that," you remark with an amused huff. As Merlin walks, you can feel a discordance in his steps, likely a reaction to the way Sans is seated behind you: stiff as a board, and hands on your shoulders. "Okay, so, first lesson in horseback riding for you: never sneak up on a horse."

"right," Sans says. "unless you want to get kicked in the chest."

"Unless you wanna get kicked in the chest," you agree with a nod. "Second lesson in horseback riding: don't sit so stiff, move _with_ the horse."

You can hear Sans open his mouth to say something, then shut it again with an audible click of his teeth. He does this a second time, then mutters quietly to himself, "no, not that one either..." before apparently giving up on whatever joke he'd been about to make and asking "alright, what's lesson three?"

Wondering just what sort of joke you missed out on (though you have your suspicions), you note that Sans does indeed seem to be moving a bit better, loosening up some to work with Merlin's gait, which in turn makes the horse less distracted. "We'll save that for later," you say. A little devious part of you you haven't heard from in quite some time, however, decides now would be an excellent time to chime in, "But you'd probably be more comfortable with your arms around my waist. My shoulders won't do you a whole lot of good if you start to slip off."

You're glad the weather is so frigid, because it means that your cheeks are already as rosy as they can possibly get over the line of your scarf, so even if he could see your face, Sans wouldn't be able to tell you were blushing like mad. His arms would be more comfortable around your waist? Honestly, there was no way he wasn't about to call you out on this thirsty ass move; _what the hell were you thinking?_

"don't gotta tell me twice," Sans says with a huff of amusement and slides his hands down your back then slips them around your waist.

Your heart rate spikes at the sensation, even through all the layers of clothing you're wearing to stave off the cold. You tell yourself he must just be _that_ nervous around Merlin. Putting his arms around your waist shouldn't require him to press his chest up against your back, after all, or have his mouth right by your ear so he can murmur quietly just to you. Being close must just make him feel better being so high up off the ground on the back of a potentially dangerous animal.

"C-comfy?" you stammer, hoping he puts the slip down to the cold.

"oh yes," he says, voice low and warm directly in your ear, threatening to send a shiver up your spine that you only barely manage to repress. He uses his chin to push a little of your stray hair out of the way so he doesn't wind up eating it, then asks, "so, what's this beast's name, anyways?"

"He's not a beast! He's a total sweetheart!" you object, your need to defend your beloved steed managing to shake you from your embarrassment, if not your hyperawareness of everywhere you and Sans are touching at the moment. "And his name is Merlin," you say with a haughty sniff.

"what, like the wizard?" he asks with a laugh that rumbles deep in his chest, sending pleasant vibrations through your back that make your heart flutter.

You chuckle and duck your head a little. "Pretty much," you murmur. "He just kinda… showed up outta the blue one day, like magic. I'd actually been making plans to tear down the stable when he just sort of… wandered onto the property," you explain.

"magically appearing horse, huh?" Sans murmured. "not yankin' my _reins_ , are you sweetheart?"

You laugh again. "Only a little. It turns out he belonged to the previous owner of the cabin over the lake and a few miles down," you explain. "He passed away unexpectedly and Merlin eventually got out of his stall and wandered over my direction. I'd never actually met the guy so it took me awhile to track down where Merlin escaped from. No one in town was missing a horse, so I left a note down at the feed place and with the cops on the off chance anyone came looking."

"i'm guessing someone did if you know where he came from."

You nod. "Yeah, some of the guy's family finally tracked me down and eventually offered to just let me keep him if I helped them clean out the cabin and get it prepped for sale."

"they just let you keep him?" Sans asks, sounding surprised. "aren't horses… expensive?"

"Generally, yeah. Granted, Merlin's no thoroughbred, so they wouldn't have gotten a lot for him. Plus, I think they felt it was more hassle than it was worth since they were from out of state so they'd have to rent a trailer to transport him, find a place to stable him until they found a buyer… " You wave a hand vaguely and you feel Sans nod behind you. "So, yeah. Maybe not magical, but definitely fortuitous, huh?"

"depends on if you like horses, i guess," Sans muses. You elbow him sharply in the ribs and he grunts, then chuckles and says, "hey, quit _horsin'_ around."

You groan, suddenly relieved that the cabin is now in sight. You stop near the front door and tell Sans, "You go on inside, I'll just get Merlin settled real quick and then we can go."

The skeleton glances down at the ground from where he's perched behind you, then asks, "alright. so, is there a _wrong_ way to go about this, or… "

"Take my hand and just kinda slide down the side," you instruct him. He takes your gloved hand in his, then pulls his leg up so they're both on the same side, and slides down. You help control his descent, surprised to find he's a bit heavier than you would have guessed, though not by much.

Sans lifts both hands in the air as though he just landed a perfect dismount at the olympics and you laugh. Before he can make the mistake of walking behind Merlin without warning you say, "Walk in front!" The skeleton makes a sharp turn and goes around the front of the horse, giving his head a wide berth.

"lesson number three?" the skeleton comments with a wink as he passes you on the way to the door.

"Pretty much," you reply and flash him a grin as the monster proceeds to let himself into your house, only to nearly be bowled over by Lucy.

"your animals will be the death of me, woman!" he declares loudly as he tries to fend off your dog's attentions and push his way inside.

"She just likes the way you taste," you tease as he grumbles and shuts the door behind him.

You make quick work of getting Merlin settled and hurry back to the cabin. Inside, you find Sans huddled up on the couch in a blanket nursing a cup of tea. You laugh when he turns to glance at you from the depths of his cocoon.

"don't judge me," he mutters.

"Oh I'm judging," you scoff as you kick off your boots and circle around to the front of the sofa. You consider him for a moment, hands on hips, making him quirk a brow at you. Finally, you make up your mind and say, "You need to change."

The brow inches up higher. "what you see is what you get, sweetheart," he muses slyly, "i'm old and set in my ways enough i doubt i'll ever-"

"Your clothes!" you cut him off with a roll of your eyes at his antics. "You're always underdressed; no wonder you're freezing!"

"there's nothing wrong with the way i dress," he says with a frown. "besides, we're just going from here to your truck, right? i'll be fine."

You throw your hands in the air, frustrated by his denial. "And what if the truck breaks down on the way? Or we get in an accident? What if we have to walk for three hours in the cold? It's already negative two out there, Sans! Hypothermia and _death_ are a legitimate concern here, even for monsters!"

The skeleton's frown deepens at your tirade, but you don't think it's _at_ you so much as an indication of his mulling things over. "alright, i see your point," he says eventually, filling you with relief. "i don't have anything else right now, though, so we'll have to risk it because i _need_ to go to town today." The look on his face borders on belligerent, as though daring you to try to tell him he couldn't go.

Luckily for him, you have no intention of doing so.

Rather than trying to argue, you pretend to think for a moment, then brighten and say, "Actually, I think I saw some spares in the closet when I was cleaning the other day!" Before he can begin to object, you make a bee-line for the closet, feeling a little guilty for your subterfuge but telling yourself it's worth it if it means Sans won't freeze to death. You dissemble a little when you get there, making a show of rummaging in the closet depths as though you're having to dig for the clothes even though they're sitting on the shelf just inside the door.

When you think you've done enough groping around, you pick up the waiting pile and turn with a flourish. "Here we are!" you proclaim, then march over to the couch and drop the lot into Sans' lap since his hands are still occupied by his tea.

He blinks once, then glances up at you. Seeing the brightness of your smile, he seems at a loss for words, so he sets aside his tea and sorts through your offering. "that's a lot of flannel, sweetheart," the skeleton muses wryly. "you don't have to-"

Knowing where this argument is about to go, you declare, "Put them on or we're not going."

He narrows his eye sockets at you. "i _could_ just steal your truck," he suggests.

A smug little smile pulls at your lips and you cross your arms over your chest once more. "You know how to drive stick?" Normally you don't make assumptions on this sort of thing, but you feel confident this time around considering that not only have manual vehicles been on the decline in popularity for years, but Sans has only been on the surface for a year at most, and does not seem to own a vehicle of his own. The likelihood of him knowing how to work a stick shift seems minimal.

Sans scowls, and your smile widens, knowing you've won. "C'mon," you say and nudge him with your socked foot. "Daylight's wasting."

The skeleton heaves a tremendous sigh and rolls his eyes but gets to his feet anyways, apparently deciding this was one battle not worth fighting. "yeah, alright," he grumbles and nudges your foot aside with his shin before pushing to his feet and letting the blanket to drop from around him. "you already put your _foot_ down, no need to _kick_ a man while he's down."

You laugh and point to the bathroom. "Go!"

He does so, and after Sans shuts the door, you pick up his discarded blanket and fold it. By the time you're done washing his mug, he's back in the living room looking vaguely uncomfortable. He's wearing the blue plaid flannel shirt, your old carharts, and the red trapper hat. As you thought, it all appears to fit, with the exception of the pants. They don't seem too _large_ per say, but there's no denying that pants without elastic simply aren't cut to cling to bare hip bones.

Sans holds them up with a thumb hooked through one of the belt loops and with a rueful smile, says, "my dark secret revealed: i have no ass to hold up a pair of jeans."

You attempt to muffle a smile with a hand to your lips, but fail. Without thinking, you say, "Oh, sweetie, that wasn't a secret."

The skeleton looks briefly affronted at your ready agreement to his self deprecating remark until a thought seems to occur to him and a sly smile quickly takes over his features. "you been checkin' out my ass, sweetheart?"

You feel the blood begin to rush to your cheeks again, and to cover your slip you toss your hair and sniff. " _What_ ass?" He's still grinning when an idea really does occur to you off the cuff and you light up. "Oh, hang on, I might have just the thing," and dart over to your nightstand.

Sans' brow furrows a little in amusement and he saunters over to you, still holding up his pants with one hand while you rummage through one drawer after another before finally finding what you're looking for buried in the back of the last compartment.

"Aha!" you say victoriously, then toss the rectangular package to Sans, who catches it deftly and looks it over.

"suspenders?" he asks skeptically, mouth twisting in an attempt not to laugh as he glances up at you. "seriously? why do you even have these?" he ponders aloud, curious.

Your smile is lopsided when you admit, "They were a gag gift from a friend when I first moved out here, actually." You laugh, and in air quotes, add, "They're for me to 'lumberjack in'."

Sans hums noncommittally and looks at them again before squinting at you and, in a deeply suspicious tone, asking, "this is all some clever ploy to get me to cosplay as paul bunyan, isn't it?"

His accusation startles a loud laugh from you. "Look," you insist, trying not to giggle as you snatch back the package and pry it open. "It's not my fault if lumberjack chic is a practical fashion choice up here, okay?"

The skeleton snorts, but seems resigned right up until you instruct him to tuck in his shirt. "what?" he groans. "kid, you tryin' to turn me into a square or what?"

"I'm _trying_ to help you not freeze to death," you object incredulously. "Honestly, it's like trying to get a toddler into a suit... " you mutter to yourself as you unfold the suspenders and proceed to toss them over his shoulders whether he likes it or not.

"toddler tantrums don't have nothin' on mine," he warns, but once again complies, if only reluctantly.

"Be good and maybe we'll get you some candy after we go shopping, hm?" you tease, and step around him so you stand at his back. The suspenders are a 'y' cut with a single connection point in the rear. Knowing he likely hasn't had to put on suspenders before, you opt to help him without thinking to ask permission.

Sans twists a little in place in an attempt to watch you until you push his shoulder lightly so he faces forward again. "candy? how about-" he begins, then cuts off abruptly when your fingers brush the hard line of his spine just above the crest of his hips while you affix the suspenders to the waist of his pants.

"How about what?" you prompt, not realizing your slip-up as you straighten and then walk around to his front.

"i, uh-" he begins, then stops again when your knuckles trail down his ribcage as you straighten the straps and begin to sink into a crouch before him so you can clip them to his belt loops. "i can do it," he says quickly, voice unexpectedly rough as he catches your wrists in his hands and pulls you gently back to your feet before your knees hit the floor.

You blink at him, but do as you're bid. "Sorry," you say with a slightly awkward smile, suddenly unsurprised that he stopped you. Not like he actually _was_ a child after all, he could manage a couple of clips on his own.

He drops his head and does just that, and you wonder if you're just imagining the faint blush across his cheeks before he averts his gaze from yours.

That done, the both of you collect your things and head out after waiting a few minutes for the truck to warm up. Despite the fact that the sun is on the rise this time of day, the sky is clear, which means the temperature is continuing to fall. No clouds means no protective layer to keep any lingering warmth in, though it does leave the sky a particularly striking shade of blue that you can't help but notice matches Sans' coat.

There's not much in the way of radio stations this far out from town, so Sans produces his phone and plays some music to ease the silence until the two of you fall into easy conversation about nothing in particular. Mostly about bands you enjoy. You are completely unsurprised, for some reason, to find that he's a Queen fan. Guns N' Roses, Aerosmith, Journey… you begin to notice a trend in his music tastes that brings a broad, unabashed grin to your face.

Halfway through playing air guitar to Aerosmith's 'Walk this Way' Sans finally notices. "what?" he asks, grinning widely as his pale fingers continue to strum an invisible instrument.

You take your eyes off the road just long enough to glance at him, still grinning. "The eighties were kinda your decade, huh?" you ask cheekily.

"got something to say about it?" he challenges lightly.

"No," you answer immediately. "It suits you."

He arches one eyebrow at you, a smile still playing across his features. "not sure how i feel about that," the skeleton admits. The song comes to an end so he stops playing his invisible guitar and says, "it was a pretty popular decade of music with everyone in the underground, actually."

"Really?" you ask curiously. "How come? I mean, not that it wasn't a good time for music… just sort of odd that _everyone_ down there liked it so much."

Sans gives you a considering look for a moment, then leans back and kicks his feet up on the dashboard for about two seconds before you reach over and shove them right back off again. He snorts and makes himself comfortable again before speaking. "A lot of our human media is stuff that just sort of… washed down from the surface in the water system and wound up in the dump," he admits. You look over at him again, intrigued; this wasn't anything you'd ever heard before. Sans' expression is a little distant, and his gaze drifts out the passenger window to watch the trees passing for a minute before continuing. "the eighties and on into the nineties were a good time for music down there because everything was on 8-tracks. they're pretty durable, so they'd make the trip mostly unscathed. once you guys switched to cds, though, everything went down the drain since they scratch so easy."

You make a thoughtful sound at this information, but apparently he's not done.

"the eighties were particularly big, though, because there must have been… i don't know, an accident with a shipping truck here on the surface cuz a whole boatload of tapes came down all in one go, so they were really common."

"Huh," you remark, amused and fascinated by the odd ways monster culture had apparently evolved. You glance at him sidelong and offer, "If you're looking to add to your collection, I've got a bunch of stuff back at the cabin on my laptop I can share." You hesitate, then ask, "Do you have a computer?"

He looks back at you and he's smiling again. There's an almost wistful sort of sweetness to it that takes you off guard and forces you to look away before you say something stupid. "yeah, better one than that laptop of yours," he jabs lightly.

"Hey, it does what I need it to just fine. Not like I need a lot of processing power to run a word doc," you scoff and he chuckles.

"but, yeah. new music would be… nice," he admits.

The rest of the drives passes far more quickly than usual, which makes for a nice change of pace. Sans' company really does help the time fly, and before you know it, you're pulling up at your favorite coffee shop and the skeleton is looking out the window curiously.

"Coffee time!" you cheer brightly and get out of the truck, taking a moment after your boots hit the snow to stretch before shutting the driver side door behind you. It is tradition for you to stop and get a drink before going about your actual errands. Coffee fiend that you are, you can't pass up a good mocha, especially since you can really only get them once a week.

You're halfway to the front door before you realize that you're alone, and you look back in confusion to see Sans still sitting in the truck with the hood of his jacket pulled up and a large pair of headphones on. You blink and tuck your keys into your coat pocket, wondering if maybe he just doesn't like coffee. Still, it's not as though they don't serve plenty of other drinks, _plus_ they have free wifi and you generally like to take at least half an hour to catch up on emails and the like while you're there.

Frowning a little, you march right back to your truck and knock on the window with a gloved hand. With his eyes closed and headphones on, Sans does not notice your approach, and gives a start at your knock. He blinks at you, then cranks down the window. "'sup, kiddo?" he asks.

"You don't want to come in?" You ask. It suddenly occurs to you as you ask that maybe he's afraid of people making comments on the fact that he's a monster. Maybe he's had bad experiences here in town before. You curse yourself a little for not thinking of that in the first place, but hurriedly add, "The people here are super nice. Plus, you know, the coffee is fantastic."

Sans stares at you for a moment, and again there's that lightning quick slide show of emotions that flickers across his face. Blink and you miss it.

Surprise is key among them, though, and you wonder at that. What's so surprising about getting coffee?

The skeleton tugs his headphones down so they hang around his neck, then asks, "you want me to come in?"

"Well, yeah, obviously," you say, brow furrowed quizzically. "I mean, I won't drag you kicking and screaming if you don't _want_ to come in," you add with a huff of laughter. "They've got other stuff if you don't like coffee," you continue on the off chance that's why he stayed behind. "Plus free wifi. I was gonna sit for a bit and check emails and stuff since the net's been a bit crap this week."

Sans leans against the door for a moment and seems to consider you with a thoughtfulness that makes your pulse quicken for reasons unknown. His eyelights search your face and you smile on reflex, fiddling absently with the pull strings of your winter hat. Finally, he answers with a smile of his own and says, "alright. don't gotta ask me twice," then rolls up the window and follows you inside.

It's blissfully warm in the cafe after the stinging cold of the outdoors, and the rich scent of coffee would have made you smile had you not already been doing so. It being mid-morning on a weekday, there's only a few other people scattered about the place, and Jenny is alone behind the counter flipping through facebook on her phone when you enter. You glance around surreptitiously on your way to the register, but while Sans is definitely getting a few surprised or even downright shocked looks, no one is attempting to flee the coffee shop or even say anything.

"Hey, there you are!" Jenny says brightly when she spots you. "Was starting to wonder if you were gonna make it in at all," she adds, then notes that you're not alone. You see the moment she registers that you're being tailed by a walking, talking skeleton by the widening of her eyes. You glance back at Sans and see that he has his head canted slightly to one side, a vague sort of smile on his face.

"Jen, this is my friend Sans," you say and grab the sleeve of his coat and use it to pull him in closer to the counter beside you. He glances at you sidelong, and you think he's surprised again but the look doesn't stick around long enough for you to fully register it. "Sans, this is Jenny, my friend and local coffee aficionado," you continue with a grin.

The moment seems to stretch forever between the two, though objectively you know it's only been a few seconds. Eventually, Jenny smiles, then offers her hand over the counter and says, "Pleasure to meet you, Sans! Any friend of my very favorite lumberjack is a friend of mine!"

"A person comes out to your cabin while you're chopping wood _one time_ and suddenly you're a damn lumberjack," you grouse half-heartedly while Jenny just winks impishly in your direction.

Sans extends his hand in turn and accepts hers, giving it a firm shake. Jenny's eyes widen a little when she realizes his fingers are just as bony as the rest of him but she doesn't pull away until he releases his hold on her. "pleasure's all mine," he says. He glances between the two of you then and remarks with a sly sort of smile. "remind me not to go out on any rainy promenades while she's around, though."

Jenny just looks confused, but you laugh. "Was that supposed to be a Killer's reference?" you ask, and his eyelights brighten at your recognition of his comment.

"maybe," he muses, smiling.

Jenny gets the joke too, then, and she groans a little. "Oh god, please don't," she begs. "My sister used to sing that song at me _all the time_."

"Sorry," you and Sans reply simultaneously.

The barista shrugs and sighs, smiling a little. "It's alright. Better than Forrest Gump references at least." You wince sympathetically and Sans tries not to snicker. "Anyways, what are you guys getting?"

You order your usual, and after a moment's consideration, Sans orders a black coffee. You try to buy your own, but the skeleton pushes your hand away before you're able and pays for the both of you.

"you gave me a ride into town. i can buy your damn coffee," he says in a tone that brooks no argument. You grumble a little at this, but he ignores you, so you let it go with a sigh. "i'll grab a table," he continues once Jenny passes him his drink and does just that.

You watch him go, and Jenny watches _you_ as she works on making your mocha. "He the one that's been keeping you up nights?" she asks slyly while you're distracted, knowing it's a moment of weakness for you.

"Yeah," you admit without thinking, then start when she feigns a scandalized gasp. "Not like that!" you hiss, cheeks immediately flushing red as you glare at her across the top of the espresso machine.

"Like what, then?"

"It's-" you pause and grimace at the thought of trying to explain just how your relationship with Sans began. "It's complicated," you finish lamely. Her mouth forms a little 'o' of surprise and you groan. " _Still_ not like that!"

You glance over to where Sans is sitting near the fireplace, and are relieved to see that he doesn't seem to have overheard you. He's browsing the internet on his phone and sipping his coffee while he ignores the occasional curious look he's getting from the other patrons.

It must get tiring being _looked at_ all the time, you think. Maybe that's why he and Papyrus had moved out to your neck of the woods?

You file away the question for later, not sure you're close enough to go so far as to ask yet. You turn back to Jenny and nearly jump at the speculative look she's giving you. "What?" you hiss and take your coffee from her outstretched hand.

A wicked little smile plays across her lips and she points at you as she leans on the counter. "It may not be 'like that', but you _want_ it to be, don't you?"

You shoot your friend your most fierce glare, but it has no effect. She just smiles knowingly and eventually your shoulders sag and her smile widens in triumph. You take a sulky drink of your butterscotch mocha and mutter, "Maybe..."

Jenny wiggles in place behind the counter a little, clearly _enormously_ entertained by your suffering, damn her. She lowers her voice and in a sing-song tone, proclaims, "Girl wants to get that monster di-"

"Don't you fucking dare!" you growl, cutting her off and looking around hurriedly, but luckily no one is paying attention. Sans chooses that moment to glance your way, though, and you think you just might keel over face down on the counter then and there from embarrassment. Instead, you wave a little and smile. He quirks a brow at your antics but waves in return. When he looks away again, you sag against the counter. "Kill me," you whisper.

Jenny doesn't seem to be paying your dramatics any mind, though. Instead, she murmurs, "I wonder if he's even got one. I mean, he _is_ a skeleton..."

She glances at you as though for an answer, and you throw your hands up, nearly spilling your coffee. "Like I would know!" you whisper-scream and she just grins evilly. As an afterthought, you add in a more moderate tone, "That sort of thing doesn't seem to bother lesbians, anyways." Jenny's jaw drops and then she howls with laughter as you clap a hand over your mouth. "Okay, yeah, I'm just… I'm gonna go," you say and start to sidle away from the bar, ten kinds of red in the face.

Before you make your escape, Jenny says, "Go get 'em, champ. I'm rooting for you!"

You cover your eyes and flee, though you can't help but grin at the same time. You feel on the verge of a heart attack by the time you drop into the chair across from Sans.

He glances up and immediately notices your coloration. "you okay there, kid?" he asks, grinning little. "you win the lotto or something?"

"Huh?" you ask, confused.

"you know, cuz you're lookin' pretty _flush,_ " he says, and you feel like dying all over again.

His terrible pun earns him a weak laugh as you gaze down at the plastic lid of your mocha and take a long sip. "Jenny just delights in winding me up," you muse and settle more comfortably in your seat.

"she's got you going like clockwork from the looks of it," he teases and you sigh. "what's she grinding your gears about?"

Distracted by the humor in the monster's tone, you don't notice the tension in his shoulders as he waits for your answer.

"Oh, it's stupid," you say with a casual wave of your hand. "Just… I don't know. Relationship stuff, I guess," you huff with a wry grin as you glance up to meet his eyes.

"Yeah?" he asks and leans casually back in his seat, absently tapping his phone against the surface of the small table between you. "Like boyfriend stuff?" he suggests idly, gaze drifting to the fireplace.

"Kinda," you say with a grimace, and his eyelights dart briefly back to your face. "I don't have one but she's… rooting for me? I guess?" you say with a weak laugh.

You're too busy keeping your eyes on your hands as you pick at the paper sleeve of your cup to see the speculative glance Sans gives Jenny. You also miss the fact that she notices him looking, and shoots him a thumbs-up that makes him arch a brow. He still flashes her a smile before turning his attention back to you, though.

"D-do you have one?" you hazard eventually, trying your hardest to play it cool.

"a boyfriend? nah." he says, and you almost choke on a laugh. "no girlfriend either," he offers, sparing you having to ask, for which you are unaccountably grateful.

"Oh, good," you say on reflex, and immediately regret it. "I mean, not _good,_ just-"

You're saved by the bell when your phone unexpectedly rings, making the both of you jump, then laugh awkwardly. It's your mother, and you realize it's past the time you normally call her while you've got signal in town.

"Shit, sorry, I have to take this," you tell Sans apologetically and he waves you off.

"pretty sure i can entertain myself," he reassures you, and you smile gratefully at him before answering your phone.

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks so much for reading! Do remember to drop a review if you enjoyed, I absolutely love them and it only takes a few moments out of your day to really make this overworked writer's! XD

Next chapter: Costco!


	5. As You Wish

**AN:** So sorry for the delay, you guys! Honestly I don't have an excuse other than I wound up having to work on Tuesday, which I normally have off, so it completely threw off my mental schedule and I totally forgot to post the new chapter 8'D So, here I am at Starbucks posting again, heh.

Remember to drop a review if you enjoyed! It only takes a minute of your time and not only does it make this writer's day, but every comment really goes a long way towards helping me keep writing!

* * *

 **Winter in Your Bones  
** Chapter Five: As You Wish

Your mother doesn't keep you on the phone long, as apparently she has errands to run herself today. You heave a sigh of relief that you don't even have the proper opportunity to tell her about Sans and everything else, though you feel a bit guilty for it. You tell yourself that now, while you're literally out with the skeleton in question would be a bad time to sit down and try and explain everything to your mother, who is far too sharp a lady for you to think you might get away with a _bare bones_ explanation. You definitely don't want to outright lie to her, and honestly, you don't think that would do Sans any sort of justice. It would make it sound as though you were ashamed of him, which you definitely aren't. There is no denying that your friendship is… unusual, though, and definitely needs a proper explanation for both parties to not sound completely nuts.

Plus you still haven't mustered the courage to ask where Sans lives, and you _know_ it'd be one of the first things your mother would grill you about. You worry at the thought that maybe he and his brother are technically squatting on your family's land. _You_ certainly don't mind, but then the property isn't in your name yet either.

It's an argument you'll have to be exceedingly well armed for, and you're just not there yet.

You and Sans finish making use of the cafe's wifi and polish off your coffees, then head out. Jenny waves goodbye with a grin, and you both raise a hand in turn before braving the cold once more. The temperature seems to have dropped even further since you left the cabin, and you can't help but notice the way Sans drags his new hat a little lower down on his head. He spots you looking and flashes you a grin. "thanks for this," he says, gloved fingers brushing over one of the ear flaps. "thanks for all of it, really," he adds more seriously after a moment. "i know i came off pretty ungrateful earlier… i'm sorry."

"That's okay," you say, a little relieved at his apology. You'd insisted for his own good, of course, but it's nice to know he not only isn't holding a grudge over it, but is grateful. "No one likes being told how to dress," you add.

Your eyes are on the road, but his are on you, seeming to study your profile as you drive until the weight of his eyes makes you glance at him again and his expression eases into a smile. "no, but apparently some of us need to be. pap's been on me about it for ages," he admits.

"How's he for clothes?" you ask with a thoughtful frown. "Eight and a half feet tall… that can't be easy to shop for."

"it's really, _really_ not," Sans admits with a tired sigh as he relaxes back into his seat once more and turns his eyes to the surrounding city as you make your way through the minimal traffic. "he's actually pretty good at making his own stuff, adjusting things i buy that at least come close to his size," he continues. "i've been meaning to get my hands on a sewing machine for him but haven't had the opportunity."

You sit up a little straighter and offer, "I have one at the cabin, if you want!" You realize how overeager you sound, and quickly add, "I mean, I hardly ever use it, so you can just borrow it for a bit."

Traffic picks up at this point, requiring all of your attention, so you don't see what kind of look he gives you when he remarks out of the blue, "kid, i can't tell if you're actually this damn nice or just trying to get in my pants."

You jerk the steering wheel as you nearly merge too soon and swear, then glance in your rearview to wave apologetically at the car you almost forced onto the sidewalk. "Sans-" you begin, voice a bit strangled and verging on horrified as your face begins to turn beet red.

"then again," he continues in a casual drawl, "considering my pants are technically _your_ pants, maybe i owe you."

"Sans!" you repeat, sharply this time and verging on angry. In your distraction, you wait too long to brake coming up to a red light and your truck slides sickeningly on the icy road, making you gasp. Luckily, you come to a stop just shy of the bumper of the car in front of you and you sag bonelessly as the breath wooshes out of you all at once. It's only then that you realize Sans has reflexively thrown his arm across your chest, effectively pinning you back against your seat. He withdraws it when you turn and glare at him.

"What the fuck, Sans!" you say, not shouting, but somehow even angrier at him now than you were when you'd first confronted him about sneaking into your bed while you slept. The skeleton actually flinches in the face of your glare, but you don't give him a chance to speak. "I'm not nice to you because I want something from you!" you exclaim, deciding to not even mention he'd basically just been offering you sexual favors in return for the kindness you've shown him thus far in your friendship. Sure you were interested in potentially having a physical relationship with him, but not on _those_ terms. The thought makes your stomach churn and you are a little ashamed when tears spring to your eyes, forcing you to wipe at them furtively with the back of your hand. "I want to help you because you're my _friend,_ " you say, voice tight with emotion, which irks you, but there's nothing you can do about it so you push on. "I mean, _I_ thought we were friends," you add. "Even if we weren't though, I still would because that's just what you _do_ when you see a person in need and you have the means!"

The light turns green again and you start driving. Sans is silent in the seat next to you and you can't bring yourself to look at him, so you have no idea how he might be taking your outburst. You sniffle a little and hate yourself for it as you pull into the Costco parking lot, find a space, and slam your foot down on the parking brake with more force than is really necessary.

Before you can open your door, Sans grabs you by the wrist to stop you. "i'm sorry," he says, voice low and fervent as he leans to one side in an attempt to catch your eyes with his. "that was… that was really shitty of me to say. i'm sorry," he repeats emphatically.

You continue staring out the front window for a moment, then eventually nod and meet his gaze. The skeleton is leaning halfway over the center console, hand still around your wrist as he looks up at you from under the furred brim of his trapper hat, expression solemn and concerned. He relaxes a little when you finally look his way, though his expression doesn't shift.

"i've always been the sort to look a gifthorse in the mouth," he admits with a wry smile. "probably won't surprise you to hear i've never had a ton of friends, and that didn't change after pap and i moved to the surface." The monster's smile drops into a frown. "my bro and i both had some bad times before we moved out here. people trying to… take advantage," he explains, words slow and careful in their phrasing.

You frown in turn, brow furrowing in concern at your friend's admission and wondering who had been trying to take advantage of him and Papyrus, and how. You don't dare ask, though, not right now. It's clear Sans has some unhappy memories in mind, and you don't want to drag them to the surface if he doesn't want you to. Maybe someday he'll trust you enough to tell you. So, in the meantime, you shift your arm so Sans goes from gripping your wrist to holding your hand. He glances down in surprise, and you give his boney digits a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

"I'm sorry that happened to you and Papyrus," you say softly, frown deepening as his grip on your hand tightens a little and you continue, "But I don't _want_ anything from you Sans. I just..." you pause and look at him for a moment before shyly admitting, "I just like being around you is all."

The skeleton's eye sockets widen fractionally, and for the first time you see his eyelights become larger rather than smaller as he takes a deep shuddering breath and tries to speak. No words come right away, though, so he just offers you a weak smile and squeezes your hand again. Sans drops his head and releases his hold on you as he pushes himself upright in his seat again and says, "thanks, sweetheart." He turns to the door as though to get out, but pauses and drops his forehead against the cool glass of the passenger side window instead. "I uh… i like spending time with you too," he admits, voice uncharacteristically rough.

Before you can reply, he pushes his way out the door and shuts it behind him. He waits for you a few paces from the truck while you quickly grab your purse and gloves, and by the time you reach him, he seems to be back to his normal collected self, if a little more subdued than usual.

You cross the parking lot together, walking close enough that your shoulders brush occasionally, though neither of you moves to put distance between you until you're inside at the carts. You grab one of the normal ones, but your eyebrows go up when you see Sans grab one of the big flat bed trolleys for the real bulk shopping. He doesn't explain himself, and you don't ask as you head in together, flashing your member cards for the employee at the inside door.

The store is busy, but not overcrowded, so you don't struggle navigating the aisles. "i don't think i'll ever get used to the sheer amount of _stuff_ in here," Sans muses at one point, and you laugh.

"Honestly? Me neither," you say as you tilt your head back to take in the huge, industrial shelves that tower overhead.

Together you go up and down nearly every aisle. There's only a few things you actually buy here since it's just you in the cabin, but Sans pulls down bags of rice, cases of frozen chicken, more noodles than you think an italian restaurant goes through in a day, and a ton of canned tomato sauce. It occurs to you as you watch him shopping that maybe it's not just him and Papyrus living out wherever it is they've settled down. Even if Sans was only shopping like this _once_ a week it'd surely be far more than just two monsters need (unless his and Papyrus' metabolism is way outside the human norm, but you've never really heard anything of the sort about monsters in the past…), it'd be far too much. And you know for a fact that there are many weeks when he comes all the way into town twice. Granted, you don't know if he comes to Costco when he doubles up on trips, but still…

Eventually, you're not able to contain yourself any longer and you ask, "Do you uh… always buy this much?"

Sans glances up from examining bags of frozen vegetables. "oh," he says, looking back at his trolley. "yeah," he admits, tone suddenly wary, and you know your suspicions must be right.

"It's not just you and Papyrus out there, is it?" you hazard when he doesn't volunteer any further information.

"no," he answers, shifting under your gaze as he looks anywhere but at you. "there are… others," he forces himself to say, though you can tell it makes him uncomfortable. He's pushing himself for your sake, and you're touched.

"It's alright, you don't have to say more," you tell him gently, voice lowered so the others shoppers don't overhear. The look of naked relief he gives you makes you glad you decided not to push, as does his smile.

"thanks, sweetheart," he says as you both continue down the aisle again. He seems compelled to add more, though, and continues, "it's not that i don't trust you. it's just… it's not for me to say." Sans looks at you with an expression of earnest supplication that makes you eager to reassure him.

"Don't worry about it," you tell him. "If you guys ever need help, though, you know you can ask, right?" You frown a little, unable to avoid being reminded of his careless words in the car, but feel it's important to say all the same. You can tell by the look in his eyes that he's thinking along the same lines.

Rather than try to brush you off, though, he nods, and you smile. "thanks, kid. it really means a lot to me that you'd offer," he says levelly. You walk in silence for a minute and don't realize that he's watching you as you try to decide on what flavor of instant oatmeal to buy.

You eventually notice and ask, "What?"

A soft huff of amusement escapes the skeleton and he shrugs. "i-" he begins, then hesitates and laughs. "just trying to come to terms with the fact that you just really are this nice, apparently," he muses.

You blush and turn back to the oatmeal. "I'm not _that_ nice," you grumble. "Anyone would do what I have," you insist.

A short, ugly laughs escapes Sans and you look at him in surprise, embarrassment forgotten in the face of that bitter sound. "no, kid," he says with a sour smile that's directed past you, rather than at you, "i can definitely vouch for the fact that not just anyone would do for me what you have." The lines of his face settle into something harsh and unforgiving as he mutters, "not without asking for something in exchange, anyways."

You reach out to him instinctively and rest a hand on his arm, drawing him from his dark reverie to look at you. The sight of your concerned expression softens his manner and he pats your hand with his. "quit lookin' at me like that, kiddo, you're breakin' my heart over here," he teases.

You open your mouth to tell him that he's breaking yours, but you manage to refrain. Instead, you say, "Sorry," and give his arm a little squeeze before pulling away again. His humerus feels much thicker around than a normal humans should, you think to yourself distractedly even as Sans rolls his eyes at your sweetness. Part of you wonders if anything else about his bones varies from a human's and you find yourself blushing, glad that Sans has already started walking again and hasn't noticed.

Your friend passes the clothing section in the center of the store without so much as a second glance, but you seize your opportunity while you have it and catch him by the hood of his jacket. He chokes a little and looks back at you like you've lost your mind. "Come on, we're going to take a look," you inform him in a voice that brooks no argument as you force the skeleton to leave his cart with yours where they're out of the way and haul him into the clothes section.

"i can walk on my own, you know," he informs you as you shift your grip to his sleeve and keep tugging him along.

"Yes, but you'll walk in the opposite direction if I let you go," you say with a cheeky grin that makes him laugh, though he does not deny your assertion. You come to a display of thermals and proceed to sort through sizes, "Here, you really need some of these if you're gonna be spending time outdoors," you inform him and push a pair you estimate to be the right size into his hands.

"kid," he says, and you glance back at him even as you pick up a second set. Never hurts to have extras, after all. "i appreciate it, but i swear i'm fine," he insists, not meeting your eyes.

You squint suspiciously at him, then ask. "Do you already have some?"

"no," he admits eventually. "but i-"

"Sans please," you press, no longer squinting, but imploring. The tone of your voice finally forces him to look at you. "I'm trying _really_ hard not to be nosey and ask questions and stuff," you inform him, and he huffs in amusement. You smile a little, but continue. "But I swear I'm just trying to help. I've lived up here my whole life and I _know_ the sort of stuff you need if you're gonna make it, especially out where we are. I really wasn't kidding earlier about the hypothermia and death spiel," you say. "It just… It would _kill me_ if you got sick, or frostbite or… or worse without me trying to educate you."

You're close to convincing him, you can tell by the way he's shifting his weight from one leg to the other as he examines the pack of long underwear.

"We're not even in the coldest part of the winter yet, Sans," you press and he grimaces at the news. "I don't know who you're living out there with, but if you let me show you what to buy, you can teach your friends too and you'll all be a lot more comfortable as we get closer to January." You chew absently on a thumbnail, searching in vain for what words might convince your friend to just _buy_ the damn things, when a thought occurs to you. "Hey, if it's… if it's about the cost," you say, voice low and brow furrowed. Money was a sensitive subject for anyone, and you worry that it might be for Sans as well. He's having to buy an awful lot of food, after all, maybe he can't afford-

"it's not the money," he says immediately, disabusing you of the notion before you can get any further with it. "i've got plenty of money," he mutters. "I just don't usually..." The monster's words drift off and you nearly reach for him again, but refrain.

"Don't usually what?" you prompt gently, voice low so only he can hear.

Sans looks at you and the expression on his face is one of discomfort and embarrassment. "er..." he mumbles. "don't really buy a lot for myself, is all," he admits awkwardly. "just feels weird."

You stare at him for a long moment and Sans keeps his eyes on his hands and the package you had thrust into them.

"i mean, i'd say i'm all _skin and bones_ so i don't need much, but i'm even less than that, so-" he begins in a transparent attempt to use levity to mask his discomfort.

You won't let him distract you, though, and you smack him in the chest with the second pack of thermals. "You're buying these," you inform him, expression determined as you stare him down. "You're buying these, and all the other clothes I tell you to because you fucking _need them,_ Sans." He starts to object, but you poke him sharply in the sternum with a knuckle to keep from bending your finger back again. "This isn't buying a fancy tv or a motorcycle you can only drive five months of the year. This is basic living essentials up here so you can function like a normal, competent adult without freezing to death and leaving your brother all alone, okay?"

You've surprised him with your ferocity on the matter, and he just blinks in the face of your well intentioned onslaught.

"So buckle down and get your credit card ready or I'll use _mine_ and there's nothing you can do to stop me," you say with a sniff, then toss your hair and stalk off amongst the displays like a woman on a mission from god himself.

When Sans eventually catches up to you, he's looking a bit meek, but he's smiling in that rueful way he gets when he knows he's been bested and you're glad that he's not mad at you for being so pushy. You're sorting through a pile of polar fleece sweaters and you pull one out and hold it up to him, judging the size.

"anyone ever tell you you're kinda terrifying when you go all avenging angel on a guy?" he asks, clearly amused, but maybe just a little awed too, if you're flattering yourself.

You flush a little, but don't let him distract you from your work. "What's your favorite color?" you ask instead.

"blue," he answers and you smile. That'd been your first guess, and the sweater you were testing on him is just a few shades darker than his coat. It looks like a good fit, so you hand it to him and he tucks it dutifully over his arm. "the hair flip was a nice touch," he adds, smile going sly. "very 'devil may care'."

You know you're probably blushing again, but you just chuckle and say, "Yeah, well, the devil may not care, but _I_ do."

"i know," he replies, tone low and gentle, taking you off guard with the shift and drawing your gaze back to him. He's smiling at you in a way that makes your heart jump in your chest, and while you feel like you could bask in that smile all day long and never get cold, you turn back to the task at hand.

Sans becomes more involved in the shopping as you go, and at one point he picks up a pack of white cotton socks that you slap out of his hand and replace with synthetic wool. He balks, but eventually caves when you explain that cotton just holds onto water that inevitably freezes around your feet and makes you prone to frostbite, while the synthetic wicks it away, keeping you warm and dry.

"alright, alright already, teach, i get it," he says and laughs, making you snort with amusement. "no cotton."

"No cotton," you repeat with an approving nod.

* * *

Checking out at Costco feels like it takes an eternity, and you want to tip the poor register girl for all her work, though you know it's not allowed. You don't comment when Sans whips out a platinum credit card to pay the staggering total, but you do quirk an eyebrow behind his back. He'd said he had plenty of money… apparently he wasn't kidding.

After that, you grab burgers at a nearby fast food joint so you don't have to leave your purchases unattended, and eat them in the parking lot. Sans shocks you with the sheer quantity of ketchup he dumps on his fries.

"You uh… you want some fries with your ketchup, or..." you ask as he dumps the remainders of what must be his twentieth ketchup packet into his discarded food bag.

He looks at you sidelong, grinning. "nah, all that starch just slows me down," he says impishly.

You just laugh and eat your own food with a more moderate amount of condiments. Considering he used up every extra packet of ketchup he'd been able to get the drive through girl to give him, though, you do dip a few of your own fries into his mess.

After that, you run to the post office and a few other small errands around town, then begin the long drive back to your cabin, during which you get a further tour of Sans' musical tastes.

When you get home, Sans helps you bring your purchases inside, but leaves his in the back of your truck, reasoning that they're already frozen anyways, so what's a little longer out in the cold, and you have to agree. You figure it should be safe enough. Bears only wake from their hibernation for short periods this time of year and don't generally wander too far from their dens, so you're not too concerned about them finding the food.

"What do you want for dinner?" you ask Sans once your things are put away, as though it's the most natural thing in the world to ask him after a long day out and about.

The monster doesn't answer immediately, making you look around at him from where you're standing in front of the open refrigerator. He's crouched by the dark fireplace in his socks and your hand-me-downs, giving the excited Lucy a much appreciated rub down. Sans is looking at you with an unreadable expression on his face. "i guess that's an invitation to stay for dinner?" he asks instead, the corners of his mouth quirking up.

"Oh!" you begin, and it suddenly hits you how odd it was to ask the question the way you did. Your stomach flutters oddly and you think how _natural_ it feels, just you, him, and your dog in your cozy little cabin the woods. You've never really been lonely living out here just you and your animals before, but having someone else you get along with so well suddenly sharing such an intimate space has opened you up to what life _could_ be. Comfortable nights in on the couch with dinner and a good movie, no longer having to make that long drive into town alone, someone to lend a helping hand when it was needed…

A blush threatens again so you drop down into a crouch and use the pretense of peering into the depths of your refrigerator to hide behind its door. "Well, I mean, Pap's probably not expecting you for at least a few hours, right? You can stay and we could watch a movie. If you uh… if you want to anyways," you say in what you hope is a casual tone, but you worry sounds desperate. "I understand if you want to get home, though," you add, even though that's the last thing you want. You feel selfish, but you also realize you don't care. You want Sans there, in your home, on your sofa, in your bed-

You cut the thought short, then nearly scream when Sans speaks up directly behind you. "if you're not totally sick of me, i could go for some ramen." The shock of his sudden appearance makes you fall back onto your ass, fetching your back up against the skeleton's shins. He doesn't so much as rock back on his heels at the impact, though, and he grins down at you when you look up at him wide-eyed. "no need to _fall all over yourself_ to ask me to dinner, sweetheart," he teases with one of those deep, spine tingling chuckles of his.

"Jeezus," you gasp and struggle to get your feet under you again; you hadn't even heard him cross the room. Sans hooks his hands under your arms and he hauls you to your feet with an effortless strength that leaves you feeling flustered. Your hands go to his shoulders automatically, fingers brushing absently over the soft, worn flannel of his borrowed shirt. "Need to put a bell on you," you chide him and his grin widens. It's only then that you realize his hands are resting on your hips and you're just an inch shy of being pressed flush against him.

Heart pounding, you pretend to smooth a wrinkle out of his collar as though _that_ were the reason you were all up on him. "So, ramen?" you ask weakly and force yourself to push out of his grip.

He lets you go, but you wonder if you're just imagining the hesitation in his hands before they leave your hips.

You make ramen and watch The Princess Bride together on the couch. You're absolutely delighted to find that he can quote the movie just as well as you, and together you wind up playing out half the movie before it even unfolds on screen. The last thirty minutes, however, you find yourself drifting off, much to your annoyance. You love the finale, but you can't keep your eyes open, and without thinking, you lean over and allow your head to rest against Sans' shoulder. You're not quite at the threshold of sleep talking, but you're close.

"Fesic, you did something right," you mumble along in time with the movie.

"don't worry, i won't let it go to my head," Sans replies, and you can hear the smile in his voice. The monster carefully slides his arm around you, and you scoot in closer, glad you're too busy feeling tired after your long day to become embarrassed by this unusually forward move on your part.

The movie continues, but you're no longer chiming in, so Sans refrains as well until the final few lines. He murmurs them mostly to himself, though his resonant voice echoes in his chest and fills your ears with its warm, pleasant tones. "since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that have been rated the most passionate, the most pure," he says, and you smile. "this one left them all behind." You feel him lean his head down and say, for your benefit, "the end."

You let out a soft huff of amusement and push in closer, not wanting the moment to end.

"and now i think you should go to bed," sans continues, perfectly in time with the grandfather on screen.

"But I am _comfortable,_ " you complain with a pout.

"your bed is literally five feet away and three times the size of your sofa," he chides, though the hand that had been on your shoulder seems to have migrated down your side to rest at the top of your hip where your shirt is threatening to ride up.

"Might as well be a mile," you insist, and he laughs.

Sans shifts, and in one smooth movement that you can barely track, you're suddenly in his arms and he's carrying you effortlessly across the floor. Your eyes fly open wide and you throw your arms around his neck as he smirks a little at your shock. He balances deftly on one foot, and you remain very still to keep from throwing him off while he kicks aside your blankets then places you on the bed.

"Wow, my own bed time delivery service," you say, cheeks flush again, but laughing as he tucks you in. You're glad you changed into your pajama pants before getting comfortable on the couch earlier.

"i aim to please," he says and straightens once you're tucked in to his satisfaction.

He starts to leave, but you grab him by the wrist before he can go more than a step. He looks down at you with a questioning look. "Stay?" you ask him shyly for the second time that night. Sans hesitates visibly, eyes going from you, to the open place on the mattress at your side, and then back to you. "Just for a little bit," you add hurriedly, and nibble your bottom lip.

"i-" he begins, then stops, and you know him well enough now to see that he's torn. The fact that he clearly _does_ want to stay gives you the strength to go on.

"I really like what we have now, this... friendship," you say, and your hold on him tightens a little when you continue, "But I-I kinda miss what we had before, too." Sans' eyes widen fractionally at your admission, and his wrist shifts in your grip so you're holding his hand now, and your pulse quickens. "I miss the way we used to talk in bed, even if your feet are always _miserably_ cold."

This startles a laugh out of the monster, and seems to help him come to a decision. He smiles down at you and, in that low, velvet voice of his, says, "as you wish."

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed the chapter, make sure to drop a review! They really make my day and super help me keep writing!


	6. A Face Only a Potato Could Love

**AN:** Hey look, I posted a chapter on the right day 8'D Thanks again to everyone who commented last chapter, I _really_ appreciate it! Everyone that leaves a comment is my damn hero, bless all of you for taking a moment to let me know what you think of my fic!

Nice long chapter for you guys this week! Not gonna lie, this one and the next were an absolute delight to write, heheh. Hope you enjoy, and please make sure to drop a review if you do! Also, follow me at jolie-in-the-underground on tumblr for more of my (and others) Undertale related content!

* * *

 **Winter in Your Bones  
** Chapter Six: A Face Only a Potato Could Love

Sans is gone by the time you wake up shortly after nine, and you sigh a little bit at this revelation. It's an expected one, of course, and you have a sleepy moment where you wonder if it even happened. However, there's an impression in the pillow blankets on that side of the bed from where the skeleton had lain that reveals the truth of the memory.

Well, at least there's that.

You smile a little to yourself and roll over onto what you'll never admit you've come to think of as 'his' side of the bed, then bury your face in the pillow. It doesn't smell like him, but that doesn't mean you don't pretend it does for a moment as you take a breath before finally forcing yourself out from under the blankets to start your day.

Several hours later, you're sitting at your desk writing when your phone buzzes unexpectedly where it lays next to your laptop. Surprised, you finish your sentence, then pick it up, expecting an app notification of some sort as the wifi connection ebbs and flows for your device. Instead, you realize you've actually received a text, which is a rare occurrence. Most people know better than to try since the cell connection is weak enough out here that it can occasionally take _days_ for a text to arrive. Calls tend to be a bit more stable, though not by much.

Your heart flutters in your chest when you realize it's from Sans. The timestamp is from hours before, so you open it immediately and read it as you try to repress an excited smile.

 _dinner friday?_

You feel ridiculous getting so worked up over a two word text, but you are and there's nothing to be done for it but shift excitedly in your seat and immediately text him back.

 _Love to. What do you want to eat?_

The wait for his response is positively interminable, and seriously hinders your writing for the next hour. When his text comes you're in the kitchen making tea and nearly break your neck tripping over Lucy to get back to your phone in a hurry.

 _literally anything but spaghetti. ketchup a bonus_

You laugh aloud, fingers already flying across your screen as you type out a reply.

 _You know, I've never REALLY cooked for you before. For all you know I'm awful at it. Ramen doesn't really count._

The rest of the conversation plays out over the course of hours, and you bless the cellphone gods that it only takes _that_ long.

 _sweetheart as long as you don't literally set the food on fire while you cook it you can only be an improvement_

 _You're that bad at cooking?!_

 _pap is. speaking of he's dying to meet you. mind if he tags along?_

Dying to meet you? You smirk a little and wonder if that's meant to be a play on the fact that both brothers are skeletons, but you're excited enough at the prospect of finally meeting said elusive brother that you forget to comment on it.

 _Please bring him, I'm dying to meet him too! What time do you guys want to come over? Earlier might be better so you're only having to walk in the dark one way._

 _be there around four. want us to bring anything?_

You stop and think of what you have in the house that would make enough food for three. After a minute's wracking your brain to remember what all Sans had bought the day before, you text your reply.

 _Potatoes, if you have them. Maybe some kind of dessert if you want?_

 _as you wish_

His allusion to the movie you watched together just yesterday makes your heart flutter again and you smile, feeling a bit ridiculous, but secure in the knowledge that you're looking ridiculous in the privacy of your own home. Pleased as punch, you lock your phone and spin happily in your rotating desk chair.

"Guess who's coming to dinner, Lucy!" you exclaim aloud.

* * *

Friday finally arrives at a snail's pace, but by four the cabin is far too clean again and you've rearranged the furniture in hopes of making things more comfortable for an eight and a half foot tall skeleton. It's not the most efficient layout as far as space usage goes, but considering at least one of you will likely end up sitting on the bed, it's for the best in the short run.

At four ten there's a knock at the door and Lucy breaks into a cacophony of barks as a result. It's not often you get visitors, so the poor hound is always beside herself when you do.

"Alright, Lucy, alright! I promise it's not an axe murderer, _calm down!_ " You shout over her noise and make your way over to the door. She tails you, and you push her out of the way before pulling it open.

Sans is standing on your front step bearing a round, foil covered tin, and grinning at you. "it _could_ be axe murderers, you know," he says and pushes his way inside past your dog once you step aside to allow him in.

You roll your eyes, but you're smiling. "Right, because axe murderers would definitely come all the way out here just to visit little ol' me," you muse, watching as the skeleton puts his handful down on the small two person table you have pushed up against the wall and then drops into a crouch to pet Lucy so she'll calm down.

"hey, i _walked_ here just to see 'little ol' you'," Sans points out and looks up at you as you remain standing in the door. "an axe murderer would probably be willing to make the drive."

"Thanks, you're really helping me sleep at night with that line of logic," you grumble, and then notice something is missing. "Where's Papyrus?" you ask, brow furrowed in concern as you glance back out the door.

"out trying to play horse whisperer with that beast of yours," the skeleton replies with an amused snort as he finally pushes your dog away and gets back to his feet.

You blink, and then crane your head out the door in an attempt to spy his brother. You can only see part of the paddock from here, though, so you quickly shove your feet into your boots and drag on your coat, gloves, and hat. "Well, guess I should go introduce them," you say with a bright smile that makes Sans chuckle. As you step outside with Lucy in tow, he follows, then closes the door behind you.

You make your way around the corner of the cabin, then stop short at the scene before you. Papyrus is there, standing at the fence with one hand resting on the top rail and the other waving in a beckoning fashion to Merlin who is standing in the door of his open stall. The horse's ears flick back and forth nervously, and it's clear he doesn't know what to make of this new visitor.

' _He really_ _ **is**_ _eight and a half feet tall_ ' is the first thought that occurs to you. The second is, ' _He'll never get Merlin to come like that'._

You don't realize it, but Sans is watching you with a carefully neutral expression on his face, the lights of his eyes noting every shift of your expression and subtle body language. When you square your shoulders and start forward again, he quirks a brow and a small smile makes a reappearance as he follows after.

You come to a full stop next to Papyrus at the fence, and without any sort of introduction, ask, "Would you like to pet him?"

"OH, _VERY MUCH_ SO," the tremendous skeleton admits with a wistful sigh, his attention all for the buckskin gelding that is still decidedly keeping his distance, even with your appearance at the fence.

"Alright, give me a sec," you say, and then you're climbing up and over the fence with a practiced swing of your leg, startling Papyrus into finally looking at you. He seems surprised, but you barely have time to register that before you're inside the paddock and striding confidently over to the horse. Behind you, Sans has taken your place at Papyrus' side, and is leaning against the post as he watches you.

You whistle to Merlin as you approach, and the horse's ears flick forward in recognition, then he chuffs a breath that sends great plumes of steam rolling away on the still, cold air. "C'mon, boy, I've got someone I want you to meet," you tell him as you rub a hand along his neck and down his shoulder. You keep moving past and into the small barn to fetch a secret weapon to help smooth the introduction process. In the closet area closed off where Merlin can't get to it, you grab a few sugar cubes from a tupper bucket and reemerge. The horse has turned to watch you, ears pricked forward in curiosity.

You give the animal a fond scratch along the shoulder again and wave the sugar under his nose. He catches a whiff and immediately pushes forward to claim it, but you snatch your hand back out of the way. "Nuh-uh. You want some, you better come and get it," you tell the horse and walk back over to Papyrus and Sans. You're halfway across the paddock before Merlin's love of sugar finally overcomes his wariness of strange monsters and he starts after you.

You beat him to the fence and you climb back onto it, though this time you remain perched on top. Papyrus is watching you, wide-eyed (wide-socketed?), and you grin at him. "Here, hold out your hand."

He only hesitates a moment before doing as instructed, and you place a cube of sugar in the palm of his red mittened hand. It's a very _large_ hand, and the sugar cube looks miniscule where it rests unobtrusively on his glove. "Good, now flatten out your hand like this," you say, and show him.

Papyrus might have jumped out of his skin if he'd had any when Merlin chooses that moment to push his velvet nose between the two of you to get at the sugar on the skeleton's palm. He was so busy listening intently to your instructions that he didn't even notice how close the animal had gotten.

The monster yelps in surprise and snatches his hand away, making Merlin jerk back with a surprised snort and knocking the sugar to the ground. The horse doesn't mind, though, and he lowers his head to lip it up with a satisfied noise.

You feel Sans' hand on your lower back steadying you, and you glance back at him to smile your thanks. He winks, and you think there's something of gratitude in his face, but your attention is quickly diverted back to his brother.

"OH, I AM SORRY, HORSE, I DID NOT MEAN TO DROP YOUR SUGAR CUBE," Papyrus apologizes to Merlin, and you grin. He seems disappointed at his missed opportunity, but luckily you came prepared.

"Here," you say gently and offer him a second cube. Papyrus brightens visibly and he accepts it open palmed. "Just keep very still," you tell him patiently.

"I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS! I CAN BE STILL AS A STATUE WHEN I SO DESIRE!" He informs you and your grin widens.

"Perfect, you'll do fine then," you say cheekily and cluck your tongue to get Merlin's attention again. The horse lifts his head and it doesn't take him but a moment to notice the appearance of a second treat. He approaches again, and it seems to you that Papyrus is practically vibrating with excitement when Merlin lips the sugar cube gently off his glove. "Here, you can pet him, if you like," you instruct the monster, then pull off your glove, exposing your hand to the chill air. "His nose is really soft," you add and demonstrate the best way to pet him, then run your hand up Merlin's cheek to keep his attention so he doesn't wander off while Papyrus quickly tugs off his own glove and follows your example.

"OH, OH IT IS!" he exclaims delightedly. "SANS YOU SHOULD TRY!"

Sans eyes Merlin warily, and you turn to smile at him encouragingly. "Just a little," you say, then reach around and pull his hand off your back and use it to guide him around to the horse. The shorter skeleton allows himself to be lead, and you tug off his glove for him, then press his palm to Merlin's waiting nose.

The monster's eyes widen when he makes contact, and then he relaxes a little as the horse exhales, sending a gust of hot air over his fingers.

"ISN'T IT NICE, SANS?"

"not too bad," Sans remarks with a low chuckle as he gives Merlin a last pat and then withdraws his hand once more. "we're still not getting one."

"OH PLEASE, SANS! IT WOULD BE EXTREMELY USEFUL TO HAVE AROUND, YOU KNOW!"

"don't act like you don't just want to ride around playing knight all day," Sans retorts with in a tone that denotes a much rehashed argument. "besides, i'm not sure horses even _come_ in your size."

"Oh, I don't know about that. A percheron or a clydesdale might be long enough in the leg," you hazard thoughtfully.

Sans shoots you a look that is anything _but_ grateful now, and Papyrus' normally dark eye sockets light up. "YOU SEE, SANS! HORSES DO COME IN MY SIZE!"

You wince at the sour look on Sans' face, and turn so that Papyrus can't see yours, then mouth ' _i'm sorry'._

"come on, we better _hoof_ it back inside before we all freeze," Sans says with a sigh, knowing this argument will likely never see an end now.

"WAIT," Papyrus exclaims, attention all for you now, making you blink. "I HAVE NOT INTRODUCED MYSELF TO THE LADY YET!"

"But I already know who you are," you point out with a chuckle from your perch on the fence.

"YES, BUT THESE THINGS ARE IMPORTANT. FIRST IMPRESSIONS ARE EVERYTHING, YOU KNOW," Papyrus says and you smile. Taking this as permission, he gently grasps your hand and then bows gracefully over it, surprising you with his gallantry. "I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS! IT IS A PLEASURE TO FINALLY MAKE YOUR ACQUAINTANCE, MY LADY!"

You glance back at Sans and murmur, "My lady?"

He opens his mouth to speak, but Papyrus beats him to it. "YES! YOU HAVE EVERYTHING NEEDED TO BE CONSIDERED A LADY! YOUR FAMILY OWNS A GREAT DEAL OF LAND, YOU OWN YOUR OWN STEED, _AND_ YOU HAVE A HANDSOME HOUND AT YOUR BECK AND CALL!" he points out, and over where she has seated herself by Sans, Lucy's ears perk up.

"O-oh," you say, taken aback by this proclamation. Again you look at Sans, but he just shrugs and smiles, so you take it in stride and introduce yourself in turn. "You've already met Merlin," you add, smile returning as you gesture to your horse, who has wandered back over to his stall, clearly done standing around in the cold if there isn't any sugar to be had. "And that's Lucy," you say and point at your dog, who wags her tail at the sound of her name.

While Papyrus was obviously enchanted by Merlin, he gives Lucy a somewhat wary look as the three of you and your dog start back towards the cabin. "IT'S NOT LIKE THE ANNOYING DOG, IS IT, SANS?" he asks his brother, brow furrowed in consternation.

You look at Sans quizzically and the shorter skeleton emits a soft huff of laughter. "nah, bro, not so i've noticed anyways."

Finding no answer there, you turn back to Pap and ask, "Annoying Dog?" as you open the door and enter.

"YES, THAT'S IT'S NAME. IT'S NOT ALWAYS ANNOYING BUT..."

"It's annoying often enough that everyone literally calls it 'the annoying dog'," Sans muses wryly as he kicks off his shoes and sheds his coat, gloves, and hat. You look at him and can't help but smile when you immediately note that he's wearing the things you made him buy at Costco on your shared shopping trip a few days previous. He notices your approval and quirks a brow at you, though you swear there's a faint dusting of blue across his cheeks as well. It could, you reason, just be from the cold.

You and Papyrus follow Sans' lead and shed your winter things while you ask, "So, what's it do that's so annoying?"

"IT LIKES TO STEAL BONES," Papyrus explains with a put upon sigh. As his brother predicted, the poor skeleton is having to stoop to avoid hitting his head on your low ceiling (granted you've never thought of it as being particularly low until now).

"Not yours, I hope," you ask, horrified at the thought. Could that happen? Could Sans and Papyrus lose pieces of themselves? You turn to look at Sans, wide-eyed, and he struggles to keep a straight face.

The skeleton ultimately fails, though, and laughs, _really laughs_ at your expression. You don't notice (his head being so far above your periphery as it is), but Papyrus is surprised at the sudden outburst of mirth from his brother. "nah, darlin', we don't… that's not how-" he wheezes a little and waves helplessly at his brother to explain as he flops onto the sofa.

You turn to Papyrus for your explanation as Lucy jumps up onto the couch to lick Sans' face, only to be unceremoniously pushed right off again, and then pet once she's on the ground where she belongs. The much taller monster is still watching his brother, though his look of outright astonishment has been replaced by a radiant smile by the time you look his way. He meets your gaze with his and patiently explains, "NEVER FEAR, MY LADY, THE ANNOYING DOG, NOR ANYONE ELSE, IS CAPABLE OF TAKING OUR BONES! HOWEVER, THE MAGICAL ONES WE SOMETIMES USE," he waves one large hand casually and summons what looks to be a faintly glowing femur from from the ether. Your mouth drops into a little 'o' of surprise at this blatant show of magic, and you wonder if Sans is capable of doing the same. "THE ANNOYING DOG THAT LIVES WITH US LIKES TO STEAL THEM WHEN WE'RE NOT LOOKING AND HIDE THEM."

"Oh," you say a little faintly, then gather yourself and smile as Papyrus banishes the magically conjured bone. "I could definitely see how that'd be annoying. Lucy likes to hide my socks sometimes."

"LUCY SHOULD COME TO OUR HOUSE, THEN. PERHAPS SHE WOULD HIDE ALL OF THE SOCKS SANS LEAVES LYING AROUND SO I WOULD NOT HAVE TO LOOK AT THEM."

You try to stifle a laugh but fail, and it comes out as an undignified snort. As though to answer your earlier question about his magical abilities, Sans conjures a small bone that beans his brother right in the forehead for his trouble.

"YOU ARE A SLOB, SANS, JUST ADMIT IT," Papyrus insists with a huff, hand on his smarting forehead.

"i do," Sans says matter-of-factly as he leans against the back of the couch to better look at you and his brother. "You didn't have to out me to _her_ though," he adds a little sourly, jerking his head in your direction.

You flush a little and Sans averts his eyes, one finger idly scratching the side of his nose. Papyrus, on the other hand, seems to be completely without mercy on the subject. "IF SHE'S GOING TO BE YOUR FRIEND, SANS, SHE SHOULD KNOW WHAT SHE'S GETTING INTO."

Sans opens his mouth to make a retort of some sort, but you raise your hands in supplication for a cease fire. "C'mon, boys, play nice," you say with a weak smile. To your relief, both skeletons immediately look contrite and relax a little. Your smile widens at their cooperation and you head into the kitchen. You pass the sofa on the way and trail your hand along Sans' shoulders without thinking as you say, "Besides, Sans leaving socks around is hardly news to me."

And it's true. Since the two of you starting hanging out in your waking hours, you've noticed that his socks have a habit of somehow leaving his feet without your ever noticing him taking them off, then winding up in random places around the cabin. Luckily it's cold enough he could hardly get away with leaving without them, so it's never a problem for long. Certainly an amusing habit in the short run, though you can see how it might be annoying for Papyrus if he's having to deal with an entire wardrobe's worth of socks every day.

" _sock_ it to me, why don't you," Sans says, one hand going to his chest as though you've dealt him a blow.

You roll your eyes, but you're smiling as you preheat the oven. Realizing that you hadn't noticed the pair of skeletons bring anything but what you presume is desert in that pie tin, you ask, "Oh, did you remember the potatoes, or..."

"OH! MY APOLOGIES, MY LADY, I LEFT THEM OUTSIDE WHEN I WAS DISTRACTED BY YOUR HANDSOME STEED!" Papyrus admits, cheeks flushing orange with embarrassment at his faux pas. Before you can get so much as a word out, Papyrus already has his boots on and is out the door.

"Like a whirlwind," you muse as you watch the door bang shut behind the huge skeleton.

"you have no idea, sweetheart," Sans says with a chuckle. You turn to look at him lounging against one arm of the sofa, chin propped up on the back of his hand as he watches you with heavy-lidded eyes. His eyelights burn soft and low like a banked fire deep in the pits of his sockets, and for some reason the look gives you a bad case of butterflies.

Unnerved at the sensation, you turn quickly and fetch out a broiling pan. "I bet," you say, and are relieved to hear your voice sounds totally normal. "But seriously, what's with this 'my lady' business?" you ask and laugh as you pull a bowl out of the refrigerator and uncover it before rolling your sleeves up and washing your hands in the sink. From anyone else you think the appellation would have sounded seriously douchey, though from someone as obviously sweet as Papyrus it was just plain adorable.

Even with your back still to him, you can tell Sans is smiling by the tone of his voice. "he probably picked it up from whatever he's reading at the moment. it's a historical fantasy i think."

"He likes to read?" you ask brightly as you finally glance over at the skeleton, butterflies forgotten for the time being in the face of this promising information. Your hands clean, you pick the lump of ground meat you seasoned and mixed together earlier and start to form it into a loaf on the broiler pan.

"voraciously," Sans replies, and again you find yourself thinking how sweet the skeleton looks when he's talking about his brother. It's clear they butt heads on occasion, but family is like that, you suppose. You can be critical of someone's messy habits and still love them with all your heart, after all.

Before your friend can say more, Papyrus bursts back into the cabin and narrowly misses hitting his head on the overhead light, a sack of potatoes carried as easily in one hand as though it were stuffed full of cotton.

"I FOUND THEM!" he proclaims excitedly as he toes his boots off once more. He notices you in the kitchen and immediately approaches. "NOW, HOW MAY I HELP?"

You smile up at him, touched at the offer. "Oh, you don't have to Papyrus, you're my guests, I-"

"NO, THAT SIMPLY WILL NOT DO!" the skeleton proclaims, cutting you off before you can finish. "YOU ARE HOSTING US FOR THE EVENING, AND I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, CANNOT SIT IDLY BY AND ALLOW YOU TO WORK WHILE WE LOAF ABOUT WATCHING!" He side-eyes his brother as he says this, and Sans lifts a brow.

You blink, and one look at the set of Papyrus' face tells you the skeleton isn't going to back down. "Alright," you accede quickly, and are rewarded with a brilliant smile from your new friend. "Um," you glance around to find him something to do and your eyes light on the sack of potatoes he is still holding. "I was going to make mashed potatoes for a side, would you like to peel those for me so I can boil them?"

"ABSOLUTELY!" Papyrus agrees immediately and you laugh a little as you fetch out your potato peeler and pass it to him. It looks comically tiny in his large hand, though he seems undaunted by this fact.

He glances around for a place to work, and before you can suggest anywhere, he drags your trashcan over to the sofa and sits down on it with the garbage between his knees to catch the potato skins. As you watch, Papyrus proceeds to peel the first tuber with quick, practiced motions, then pushes the denuded result into his brother's hands.

"just what i always wanted," Sans remarks wryly as he unwillingly accepts his brother's gift. A sly sort of smile comes over his face as he rotates the potato in his grip, though, and he pokes two holes in it with his thumbs then cuts a few vertical lines further down. He finishes his handiwork by making a triangular cut in the center before holding his creation aloft and proclaiming, "alas, poor yorick, i knew him well."

You glance up from your work and laugh outright when you realize he's sculpted a rough sort of skull from the freshly peeled potato. Sans glances at you sidelong, grinning a little smugly at his success. Even Papyrus is smiling, though you can tell he's struggling not to.

"YOU SHOULD CUT IT UP FOR BOILING, SANS, NOT QUOTE SHAKESPEARE AT IT."

"what, and ruin a face this handsome?" sans asks and turns the potato skull to look at his brother.

Papyrus recoils, though he's chuckling, which only eggs Sans on. He holds the potato close to his own face, then, and turns to you and says, "looks just like me, don't you think?"

You're almost doubled over from laughter now as Sans grins at you, unabashed, and Papyrus has to stop peeling before he winds up dragging the peeler over his own fingers. "The resemblance," you finally manage to wheeze, "is _uncanny._ "

"OH GOD, SANS, GET RID OF IT ALREADY. IT'S A CRIME AGAINST NATURE HAVING _TWO_ OF YOU IN ONE ROOM TOGETHER. ONE IS MORE THAN ENOUGH." Papyrus finally manages to gasp.

Sans just sits, basking in the aftermath of his joke for a moment before finally acceding. "oh alright. the world simply wasn't made to handle this much awesome in one place, i guess,"he muses with mock sorrow. He summons a knife from the block in the kitchen and it zips through the air as the potato lifts from his grasp. "sorry little buddy. the world just wasn't ready for you," he says. With a flash of stainless steel, the knife chops the potato up into cubes, and a casual wave of Sans' hand sends the bits soaring back into the kitchen to land in the colander you pulled out for just this purpose.

You're still giggling, but your eyes are on the feats of magic once more, fascinated as ever by the casual display of power.

"SANS, CHOP THEM _PROPERLY,_ " Papyrus chides his brother as he passes him another potato with a sigh, finally over his fit of laughter. "IT'S BAD ENOUGH WHEN YOU DO THINGS THE LAZY WAY AT HOME, IT'S WORSE WHEN YOU DO IT IN FRONT OF OUR HOST!"

"what are you talking about, this is just more efficient," he remarks as the knife chops another potato and sends the bits flying into the waiting colander. You duck out of the way as you pass between Sans and the sink with a pot of water that you stick on the stovetop to boil.

"SANS-" Pap begins again.

"What, you too good to come keep me company in here, Sans?" you ask playfully in hopes of cutting off another argument. Your back is to the living room as you say this, bent over rummaging through your cupboards as you are. When you straighten, you nearly scream as you find Sans standing immediately to your right, leaning casually against the counter.

"well when you put it like that," he teases lightly, and you can tell by his grin that he knows exactly how badly he startled you just now.

You miss it, but Papyrus' jaw has dropped in shock at how quickly Sans leaped into motion at your idle joke. It threatens to fall right off his face when his older brother doesn't so much as utter a single complaint when you pass him a cutting board and he sets to work after another flash of magic sends all the peeled potatoes flying into the kitchen where they're in easy reach. The handle of his borrowed knife slaps into the palm of his hand when he catches it deftly without so much as looking around.

Papyrus' flabbergasted state has gone unnoticed by you, but there's another, smaller burst of cyan light that pushes the larger skeleton's mouth shut with a quiet 'click'. Sans doesn't comment; instead, he turns to you and asks, "figure this is enough?"

You glance around from where you've been mixing ingredients in a saucepan and say, "Oh, lord yes," when you note how many potatoes Papyrus was able to get done in such a short window of time. You look over at the monster and beam. "Thanks Pap, you're a huge help!"

"I- UH-" he begins, still reeling a bit, but he gathers himself quickly and asks, "IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE I CAN HELP WITH?"

"Well, if you want to help with the mashing when it comes time, I'd appreciate it," you suggest after a moment's thought.

Papyrus brightens and nods enthusiastically. "THOSE POTATOES DON'T STAND A CHANCE! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM A CHAMPION MASHER!"

You hear Sans snort in amusement off to your right as you stand in front of the stove and you glance his way. He catches you looking and you both share a fond smile for his brother. You stir your sauce occasionally, and while Papyrus admires your collection of books, Sans chops potatoes with a deft hand that apparently doesn't require magic to get the job done quickly and efficiently.

"You're pretty good at that," you note as he sweeps the last of the potatoes into the colander with the blade of the knife and then starts to rinse them.

He flashes you a brief grin and twirls the knife expertly in his left hand. "i'm a skeleton of many talents, what can i say."

You chuckle and turn back to the red sauce bubbling in your pan and give it a stir. Sans places his hand gently on your lower back to keep you from moving and you go still. He steps around you and dumps the now clean potatoes into the pot of boiling water, then returns the colander to the sink.

"Thanks," you say, heart fluttering again as his hand lingers on your back before finally breaking contact.

To your further surprise, though, rather than going back to the living room, Sans steps up directly behind you so he can peer over your shoulder. "smells good," he informs you, the rich, gentle tones of his voice making your toes curl in your thick socks. "kinda like ketchup. what is it?"

You feel his chest brush your back, and without thinking, you lean into him a little as you ask, "You don't recognize it?" in a lightly teasing tone that you tell yourself does _not_ sound breathy and/or outright flirtatious.

He shifts behind you, and just as you begin to worry he's been put off by your moving closer to him, he leans forward and rests his hand lightly on the countertop just to the right of the stove. The motion allows him to move closer into your space when his arm's presence forces you to lift your own so you can continue stirring, putting his elbow directly against your side and his chest solidly at your back.

"should i?" he asks, tone curious, but a little distracted to your ears. Granted, you're more than a little distracted yourself as his breath stirs the fine hairs at the nape of your neck and you swear to god his lips must be mere millimeters from brushing against the flushed skin there. It only gets worse when you feel what you _know_ to be the hard line of his hips brush against the curve of your backside. Is it hot in here? It is _definitely_ hot in here but you know the temperature has nothing to do with the way your head is spinning and _everything_ to do with the way Sans' left hand just ever-so-gently tucked a few stray hairs behind your ear, allowing his fingers to brush feather-light down the line of your neck on their way back south again.

Where he'd intended those fingers to go next you never find out as Papyrus chooses that moment to call your name from where he still lingers by your book shelf.

"What's up, Pap?" you call back, voice only a little rough, though it threatens to close off all together when you feel Sans sigh softly against your skin. You bite your lip as he steps away and you have to fight the urge to reach out and drag him right back in.

Did that just happen? It had, right? You didn't imagine the skeleton putting moves on you, surely? He's never come that much up in your space before today so you know that it's not a cultural misunderstanding of some sort between humans and monsters. Plus he'd stopped as soon as you'd both remembered you were far from alone in the cabin…

You threaten to flush crimson, but your eyes follow Sans as he saunters idly back over to the sofa and drops onto it gracelessly, eyes closed and head resting on the padded arm. There's a thousand and one things you want to do in that moment, but you're playing hostess right now and you've guests to entertain. Granted, there's one guest in particular that you want to _entertain_ something fierce, but when Papyrus turns back to you with a wide smile on his face, you guiltily force the thought from your mind and smile at him in turn.

"WOULD YOU MIND TERRIBLY IF I BORROWED THIS BOOK?" he asks and you blink a little as he approaches, volume in hand. "I PROMISE I WILL TAKE CARE OF IT AND RETURN IT TO YOU IN PERFECT CONDITION."

You glance down and realize that he's holding _your_ book. Your second, to be precise; the one you finished and published after moving out here to the cabin.

"YOU SEE, I READ YOUR FIRST ALREADY, BUT SANS IS STILL WORKING ON THE SECOND AND HE REFUSES TO SHARE."

"O-oh!" you stammer shyly. As you always do when someone tells you they've read your work, you feel a surge of excitement that is equal parts joy and horror. On the one hand: someone read your book! On the other: _someone read your book._ "You can keep it, actually," you tell him with a smile. "I've a few more copies around that the publisher sent me after it went into production."

"REALLY?" Papyrus asks, eyes gone wide and glittering as he clutches your book to his broad, sweatered chest.

"Of course!" you say, his enthusiasm successfully allaying the butterflies in your stomach in the wake of your time in the kitchen with Sans. It's hard to think wanton thoughts in the face of so much good natured sweetness.

"THANK YOU SO MUCH!" Papyrus proclaims, utterly delighted as he looks down at his new acquisition. "I WILL STILL TAKE EXCELLENT CARE OF IT, OF COURSE."

"Of course," you agree with a chuckle. You catch Sans' eye as Papyrus gushes excitedly, and you're glad to see him smiling again. He winks at you and you grin before asking his brother, "Well, you ready to mash some potatoes for me?"

"READY AT YOUR COMMAND, MY LADY!" Papyrus proclaims with a smart salute that makes you giggle and Sans roll his eyes good-naturedly.

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 **AN:** Thanks again for reading, and don't forget to drop a review if you enjoyed! I need all I can get to keep my muse fed and cooperative!


	7. Marriage Proposal 101-Bring Food

**AN:** First off, thank you so much everyone for all your lovely comments on the last chapter! Even if I don't reply, know that I read and cherish every single one, and they really make my day! TwT That being said, make sure you drop one for this chapter if you enjoy it! I've officially finished writing the main run of chapters for this fic, but I've still got plenty of editing to do, and you can help out by leaving me a comment telling me what you thought of all my work so far!

But, yeah, this series is going to be 13 chapters long! Finished number 13 today, though there will still be some mid series bonus chapters I'll post, and also some stuff that comes after!

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 **Winter in your Bones  
** Chapter Seven: Marriage Proposal 101 – Bring Food

It turns out that Papyrus really is a champion potato masher. You tend to use your kitchenaid to do it, but the tremendous skeleton makes quick work of it with a masher you haven't used in ages but find at the back of one of your kitchen drawers. Sans watches from the sofa while you show Papyrus how much cream to add before doing further mixing, followed by salt, pepper, and garlic powder.

"DOESN'T IT NEED MORE PEPPER?" Papyrus asks when he notes how much you added.

You blink up at him and ask, "Oh, do you like it spicy? I guess we could add more, if you want." You hear a small, muffled groan from the sofa and you glance back quizzically at Sans. He doesn't meet your eyes, though. Instead, he seems to have his face buried in one of the sofa cushions.

Papyrus makes a thoughtful sort of noise, pulling your attention back to him as he leans speculatively over the mixing bowl. "UNDYNE ALWAYS TAUGHT ME THAT TO MAKE TRULY GREAT FOOD YOU HAVE TO BE PASSIONATE, AND TO BE PASSIONATE MEANS HEAT! PERHAPS WE SHOULD ADD MORE PEPPER _AND_ COOK THEM LONGER..." he muses.

You blink again, open your mouth, and then shut it again. Finally, you kind of laugh and say, "How about this? Try it my way first, and if it's not to your tastes then we can go back and do whatever you like to your portion."

The skeleton nods readily at the suggestion. "VERY WELL! IT IS ONLY FAIR TO TRY MY HOST'S COOKING FIRST, AFTER ALL!" Behind the both of you, Sans actually drags his face from the pillow with an almost hopeful expression on his face.

Papyrus mixes the seasoning in thoroughly, then takes the spoon you offer him and tries a taste of the now fluffy, white potatoes. He mulls it over for a moment, and as he does you're not sure he's going to like it. Mostly the only complaints you've ever heard Sans make about his brother's food is that he makes spaghetti far too often, but it suddenly occurs to you that, as eager to assist in the kitchen the skeleton had been, it could be he gets a little… carried away when working solo.

"THIS IS..." he begins, and you hold your breath until he exclaims, "INCREDIBLE! SO FLUFFY, SO FLAVORFUL! YOU USED HARDLY ANY FIRE AT ALL AND YET I CAN TASTE THE PASSION IN YOUR COOKING!"

You laugh and clap your hands delightedly at his praise while Sans sags back into the sofa out of sheer relief. "Well, in my experience anyways, passionate cooking is less about literal fire and more about patience," you say and turn to pull the bag of green beans you'd defrosted earlier from the refrigerator to saute.

"REALLY? HOW FASCINATING," Papyrus says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "PERHAPS THAT IS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MONSTER COOKING AND HUMAN COOKING?" he suggests. "YOU HAVE NO MAGIC TO USE WHILE PREPARING FOOD, SO YOU ADAPTED TO A DIFFERENT METHODOLOGY!"

"Could be," you say with a chuckle as you prepare the beans, carefully shooing Papyrus out of your path while you move around the kitchen collecting what you need. "I've never actually had monster cooking, so I couldn't say."

"OH, WELL, I SHALL HAVE TO COOK FOR _YOU_ NEXT TIME, THEN!" Papyrus proclaims excitedly. Behind his back, Sans sits bolt upright on the sofa and when he catches your eye, makes a sharp cutting motion across his neck with his hand while grimacing. Dinner a la Papyrus is apparently something your friend does _not_ recommend.

Luckily, you're quick on the uptake and you answer, "Sure!" and just when Sans looks ready to expire, you add, as though the idea only just occurred to you, "Or, we could cook together maybe? Like a dinner collaboration!"

Papyrus blinks and then beams down at you. "OH, CERTAINLY! HELPING YOU THIS EVENING HAS BEEN VERY FUN, SO I'M SURE A FULL COLLABORATION WOULD BE EVEN MORE SO!"

"Me too," you say with a genuine smile up at the skeleton as you heat oil in a pan. While Papyrus makes plans for what you'll cook together, you glance over to Sans who is watching you both with a soft, fond smile the likes of which you haven't often seen on his face. It immediately vanishes when he catches you looking, and turns into something a little more mischievous as he glances pointedly at his little brother and then rolls his eyelights. You suppress a chuckle and turn your attention back to your cooking, trying in vain to ignore the rapid beat of your heart behind your ribs.

When dinner is served, you and Sans sit at the small table you usually eat your breakfast at, and Papyrus sits on the edge of the bed, his plate on a tray which he carefully balances on his lap.

"I'm sorry I don't have anywhere better for you to sit," you apologize for at least the third time as you all get settled.

"IT'S QUITE ALRIGHT," he assures you again, and he does seem genuinely unbothered. "I AM WELL AWARE THAT HUMAN HOMES WERE NOT BUILT WITH VERY TALL MONSTERS IN MIND SINCE WE HAVE BEEN GONE FROM THE SURFACE FOR SO LONG."

You nod, though you still feel bad. Sitting across from you, Sans notices and says, "you rearranged your whole living room for him, kid. that's a lot more than most people would do."

You shoot him a skeptical look again, just like you always do when he tries to say you go more out of your way for him (and his brother) than most humans. Before you can say anything, though, Papyrus glances around the room with a surprised blink and asks, "THIS IS NOT HOW YOUR FURNITURE IS NORMALLY ORIENTED?"

"Oh, no," you say. "But Sans had told me how tall you were and I knew you wouldn't be able to sit at the table with us, so I sort of rearranged. The couch normally faces more that way," you say and point towards the fireplace and tv. "Coffee table too, obviously." You'd had to shift some other things to accommodate the major changes, but it wasn't anything worth pointing out in your book.

When you look back at Papyrus you realize he's staring at you wide-eyed and you blink. "THAT WAS… THAT WAS VERY THOUGHTFUL OF YOU," he says, clearly moved. "TO THINK YOU'D GO SO FAR AS TO REARRANGE YOUR HOME FOR SOMEONE YOU'VE NEVER MET! I AM SO GLAD TO HAVE MADE SUCH A WONDERFUL FRIEND!"

A blush rises to your cheeks and you glance at Sans, half expecting to see a teasing grin on his face. Instead, however, you're just met with that small, soft smile again, and you go redder yet.

"I-it's really not a big deal," you try to insist as you drop your eyes to your plate and pick up your fork. In an attempt to cover up your embarrassment, you take a bite of mashed potatoes.

Apparently deciding to have mercy on you, Sans follows your lead and picks up his fork as he looks speculatively down at his plate. "i can't believe you actually made meatloaf," he muses.

You look up at him, worried. "Do you not like meatloaf?"

"IT IS DELICIOUS, MY LADY!" Papyrus declares and you smile happily at this news before turning your attention back to Sans.

"i've never actually had it," he admits. "my familiarity extends as far as families on old sitcoms complaining about it."

"Well, at least try it before you start re-enacting any of your favorite scenes, will you?" you request with a snort as you take a bite of meatloaf yourself. You'd never been particularly fond of meatloaf until you'd found a recipe online awhile back that actually suited your tastes. You've modified the sauce a little since then, and it makes for a damn fine entree if you do say so yourself.

Sans grins at you across the small table. "that's fair," he says and proceeds to take a bite. You watch and take another mouthful yourself while he chews slowly, eyebrows slowly rising. He swallows and immediately takes a second, larger bite and chews that as well, sagging back in his seat a bit as he does.

"WELL? TELL HER HOW GOOD IT IS!" Papyrus tells his brother.

Sans swallows, then looks down at his plate for a long moment as he licks some of the red sauce off of his fork. "i think I want to marry this meatloaf," he says out of the blue.

His proclamation startles a laugh out of your and you almost choke on a green bean. You make a hasty grab for your water. "I'll take that as a compliment," you rasp a moment later when your airway is mostly clear.

"yeah. this is good. like… _really_ good," he tells you and takes another bite after scooping up some potatoes on top and shoving the lot in his mouth.

"WHY WOULD YOU MARRY THE MEATLOAF, SANS, THAT'S ABSURD, NO MATTER _HOW_ DELICIOUS IT IS," Papyrus scoffs and you chuckle. You nearly choke again, however, when he continues, "IT WOULD BE MUCH SMARTER TO MARRY THE LADY SO SHE CAN MAKE YOU MORE MEATLOAF WHENEVER YOU LIKE."

You're not the only one choking at this casual suggestion. Across from you, Sans is now also chugging water, and is completely blue in the face. You're not sure if that's from the choking or embarrassment, but either way you sympathize.

"Good meatloaf seems like a shaky foundation for a good marriage, Pap," you manage to eek out.

"MARRYING A MEATLOAF JUST SO YOU CAN EAT IT SEEMS EVEN SHAKIER, THOUGH," he counters with a glint in his eye. He's teasing the both of you, you realize, and you break out into laughter.

"How about I just share my recipe and we call it even?"

"what, too good for a food based marriage?" Sans asks you with a teasing look when he's able to speak again.

"Well I don't know," you say with mock thoughtfulness. "I am apparently bringing lifelong commitment inducing meat loaf to the table. What are _you_ contributing?"

"i bake a mean apple pie," he says confidently with a smug grin as he nods back to the tin he brought with him.

"Oh?" you ask, arching your brown in challenge. "Well, I guess we'll see now, won't we?"

It _is_ an extraordinarily good pie. The crust is perfectly flakey, and the apple filling is just the right amount of cinnamon-sweet; a truly masterful example of its kind. You don't have the opportunity to tell Sans all this right away, though, as you are all in the middle of watching a movie when he passed the plates around.

Poor Papyrus has insisted on watching your copy of 'The Ring', even after Sans tried to talk him out of it. Unfortunately, you rather suspect that the older brother's cajoling only served to make the younger dig in his heels and insist on principle, as though he thought Sans didn't believe he could handle it.

Well, unfortunately for Pap, you rather suspect Sans was right.

Half the huge skeleton's pie winds up on the floor when a jump scare gets him so bad he jerks his plate and launches the rest of his dessert over his head to land somewhere behind the sofa, which in turn makes Sans laugh so hard he nearly drops _his_ pie as well.

You're seated in the center of the sofa between the two brothers, though all three of you eventually wind up on Sans' side as Papyrus gradually encroaches on your space. Every eerie note sends him scooting a little closer until the huge skeleton is plastered up against you with one arm around your shoulders, pulling you in against his side like a child's teddy bear.

Sans' attention is mostly on the movie, but you catch him masking a smile behind a hand on more than one occasion when he glances your way. The looks become more frequent as Papyrus begins to not only cling to you, but lean so hard that you are pushed right into Sans as the movie proceeds into the second act. By the third, Sans is squished into the corner of the couch against its arm with you somehow having wound up between his legs and leaning against his chest, Papyrus sprawled on top of you, his long face buried in your stomach. The taller skeleton's long arms have worked themselves around both of you by this point, and he holds you fast in place; you don't think you could budge an inch for love or money.

Not that you particularly want to.

You had lit a fire in the grate before you started the movie, and it is the only source of light in the cabin besides the tv as the credits finally begin to roll. For two people made up of all angles, Sans and Papyrus are surprisingly comfortable to cuddle with, though you put a lot of that down to the fact that they're both wearing multiple layers, which gives them a little extra padding. You smile lazily down at Papyrus where he lays between your legs and the back of the couch with his face still buried in your stomach. Your own head is resting just below Sans' collarbone, and you can feel the line of his jaw along your temple, his breath occasionally stirring your hair.

"I… I think he's asleep," you whisper at last, dumbfounded at your own conclusion. He'd been _so scared,_ poor dear, you have no idea how the skeleton had managed to fall asleep. You also have no idea _when_ he'd fallen asleep, now that you think of it. After all, Papyrus had hardly made a peep the entire movie, though he'd gasped plenty. You suspect he'd been fighting the urge to yell with tooth and nail after what his brother had said at the start of all this about him not being able to handle it.

Sans' chuckle rumbles deep in his chest and radiates pleasantly through you. He has one arm up along the back of the couch, and the other is now playing idly with the ends of your hair in a most distracting fashion. "probably. it's kind of a _thing_ he does," the skeleton muses. "if he gets scared enough his brain just shuts down to save him the nightmares and puts him right to sleep."

"That is absurd," you observe, though your fond amusement is clear in your voice.

"no denying that," Sans agrees, and you feel his jaw shift as he smiles. "i haven't seen him do it in years, though," he admits. "normally he knows better… i think he was trying to impress you."

"Poor dear," you murmur and brush your hand lightly over the crown of Papyrus' skull. He shifts and sighs a little at your touch, his hold on the both of you easing a little as he turns his head to one side so it's no longer hidden from view. "I'm glad you brought him to dinner," you add with a smile as you crane your head back a little in hopes of being able to catch a glimpse of Sans' face.

"me too," he remarks, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb Papyrus. His every word vibrates soothingly into the muscles of your back and you feel yourself relaxing further into him, shifting position a little so your head is tucked right up under his chin and the arm he'd had propped up on the back of the sofa now lays along your shoulders. Sans goes quiet as you make these adjustments, a faint dusting of blue across his cheeks that you cannot see now that you're no longer looking at him. "he gets out even less than me, so i'm glad you guys get along so well."

"you think we do?" you ask with a warm smile he can't see but can certainly hear.

He huffs a laugh. "like a house on fire." The turn of phrase seems to amuse him for some reason and he chuckles a little before continuing, "he's your new best friend, i hope you realize."

"An honor I happily accept," you reply honestly.

The both of you are quiet for a long minute, and you're dangerously close to drifting off when Sans asks, "so, what'd you think of the pie?"

He's turned his head a little and you can feel his lips against your hair as he speaks. The sensation makes your heart jump and you find yourself fully awake once more as a result. "It was pretty great," you say, then admit, "Prooobably the best I've ever had, if I'm being honest."

Sans makes a thoughtful noise and shifts his head again, almost as though he's rubbing his cheekbone absently along the silk softness of your hair. When he speaks, his voice is deeper than ever and you feel his lips against the curve of your ear as he murmurs, "good enough to make you want to marry me?"

Your heart practically stops dead in your chest at his words and you flush crimson as you cast wildly for a response that won't make you sound completely desperate. "A-almost," you say, cursing your stammer, though it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

"oh?" he asks, that sweet velvet lilt to his voice threatening to send you right over the edge into mistake town with single, lonely syllable. "what could _possibly_ have been lacking?" Sans presses. The hand that has been playing with your hair now slips to your upper arm and grips you gently there, the flat of his thumb tracing absent circles against your shoulder.

You take a breath that feels steadier than the rest of you does in that moment, and say, "Vanilla ice cream."

The distracting sweep of the skeleton's thumb stops at your reply, and he's silent for a moment before a laugh finally escapes him, no doubt louder than he'd intended and you find yourself chuckling in turn. The noise is enough to wake Papyrus, who jerks a little and looks around him in confusion before turning his gaze up to you and his brother.

"WHAT DID I MISS?" he asks blearily, shifting his weight some so he can use one hand to rub at his eye sockets.

"at least a third of the movie i think, bro," Sans muses.

Papyrus groans and drops his head back onto your stomach, which makes you laugh. You pat his head in commiseration, and your touch seems to make him realize just how he is positioned.

"OH, I AM SO SORRY, MY LADY," he says and pushes himself upright, cheeks burning a little with embarrassment. "I HOPE YOU WEREN'T TOO UNCOMFORTABLE."

"Not at all," you reassure him with a smile. "Hopefully I wasn't too uncomfortable for _you,_ " you add with a chuckle.

"NO, ABSOLUTELY NOT! YOU WERE VERY COMFORTABLE! SOFT AND WARM AND-" he cuts himself off and seems to have a thought. "NOT _TOO_ SOFT, THOUGH. I KNOW HUMAN FEMALES ARE SOMETIMES CONCERNED WITH THIS, THOUGH I HAVE NOT FIGURED OUT WHY."

You press your lips into a thin line in an attempt not to laugh, and you feel Sans shaking at your back as he does the same with less success.

"just the right amount of soft, i'd hazard," Sans remarks aloud and squeezes your arm lightly, taking you off guard with his words.

"YES, PRECISELY!" Papyrus agrees readily with a grin of relief, then gets to his feet and offers you his hand.

Deciding that now would be a perfect moment to get out of Sans' lap while you can still do so with any sort of dignity, you accept Papyrus' offer and he pulls you easily to your feet. "Thanks, Pap," you say.

"NOT A PROBLEM," he says brightly, and as you release his hand, your eyes fall to his sleeve. You hadn't noticed before, but you realize now that Papyrus' perfectly fitted sweater is, in fact, two sweaters sewn together with some impressive needlework. It's all one uniform color, though, so you figure Sans must have bought him two of the largest size they had and Papyrus modified it from there to fit his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The sleeves have a seam just below the elbow, which is likely where the original cuff was, but he had removed it and added a second stretch of sleeve to make it long enough to reach his wrists.

The sight reminds you of the offer you'd made Sans days before while in town. "Oh, Papyrus!" The skeleton blinks down at you, clearly surprised by your sudden intense regard. "Sans was telling me that you make and tailor a lot of your own clothes."

He blinks again, then smiles, though the expression is a little uncertain, unsure as he is on where you're going with this line of thought. "I DO," he admits. "UNFORTUNATELY, FINDING CLOTHES IN MY SIZE IS NEXT TO IMPOSSIBLE. LUCKILY, I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAVE THE SKILLS TO OVERCOME!"

You beam at him and pluck at his hemmed sleeve a little. "Clearly. You do such nice work I didn't even notice until just now!" Papyrus flushes, pleased by your compliment as Sans pushes himself up off the couch and gets to his feet with a cacophony of pops as his joints settle. "Anyways, I bring it up because I have a sewing machine you can borrow for awhile, if you like."

Papyrus' sockets go wide, and then a smile like a sunrise takes over his angular features. "REALLY?" he asks. "YOU WOULDN'T MIND? I DON'T WANT TO IMPOSE..."

"No, please, I'd be happy if someone who actually _needs_ the thing would make some use of it," you say and flip on the overhead lights before making a bee-line to one of your closets. You'd dug it out from the depths earlier that day in anticipation of the moment, and you're glad you didn't forget to offer. "I haven't even taken it out since this past spring, so keep it as long as you need," you tell him as you lift the box into your arms and offer it to Papyrus. "It's nothing fancy, but it _is_ one of the heavy duty models, so it can work the heavy materials if you need to make jackets or something." A thoughtful expression crosses your face. "Pretty sure it can even do leather, but I don't remember for sure. It should all be spelled out in the instruction booklet in the box," you add with a shrug and a smile.

Papyrus moves to take the machine from you, but hesitates at the last moment, hands hovering just inches from the box. For some reason, you half expect him to glance back to Sans for permission, but he doesn't. Instead, he meets your eyes with his and searches your face for a moment, his own uncharacteristically solemn. You remember what Sans told you that day at Costco, how people had tried to take advantage of them in the past, and your heart gives a pang.

"Please," you say, voice soft but genuine as you push the box into his hands. "You can bring it back when you're done or get your own, or whatever. It's no problem, Papyrus."

Finally the skeleton's expression softens and he nods as he accepts the sewing machine and lifts it from your hands. You're glad when he does because you're not sure how much longer you could keep holding it like that before your arms gave out. When you see the genuine happiness writ clear across Papyrus' features as he looks down at his armful you smile delightedly.

"THANK YOU," he says with such earnest gratitude that your heart gives another pang. "I PROMISE TO TAKE EXCELLENT CARE OF IT!"

You pat his arm fondly. "I trust you, Pap," you tell him and turn to head into the kitchen to put away the leftovers. You don't see it, but the monster's shoulders stiffen and his smile slips into something more along the lines of stunned when your back is to him. He remains there a moment while you pull out the tinfoil and carefully wrap up the meatloaf, but gives a start when Sans rests a hand gently on his forearm and their eyes meet.

Something unspoken passes between the brothers. Sans' mouth quirks up and Papyrus nods, then takes a breath to gather himself. By the time you're done with the foil, Sans is in the kitchen with you replacing the cover on his pie.

"Here," you say, and offer him the leftover meatloaf. "Since it was good enough to propose to, apparently," you tease and press it into his hands.

The skeleton accepts it on reflex and chuckles. He almost seems ready to give it back, but stops himself and keeps it instead. His eyes flick to his pie and he says, "alright, but you have to keep that, then." His smile widens and he adds, "it may not be good enough to put a ring on, but it's still pretty good, huh?"

You laugh and flush a little again, one hand going to your face. "Yeah," you admit. "Pretty damn good."

Sans nods, seeming satisfied. He glances back at Papyrus to see his little brother hesitantly petting Lucy where she lays in her bed by your desk, sewing machine carefully cradled in his free arm. "we'd better head out," he says as he looks back at you, and you glance at the clock with a frown. You blink when you realize it's going on eleven.

"It's getting late, you sure you guys don't want to just stay here tonight?" you offer.

"nah," Sans replies and heads towards the door with you in tow. "you've been more than generous tonight, sweetheart, so don't fret," he tells you as he glances at his brother then puts down the meatloaf long enough to pull on his outdoor gear.

You look to Papyrus as well, and smile when your eyes meet by chance. The tall skeleton rises to a stoop so he doesn't knock his head on the ceiling and makes his way to the door where he follows his brother's lead.

"THANK YOU FOR SUCH A DELIGHTFUL EVENING, MY LADY," Papyrus says when they're both ready to go. He surprises you by taking your hand and bowing low over it, and when he straightens, he's grinning. "I PROMISE I'LL BRING YOUR SEWING MACHINE BACK JUST AS SOON AS I AM DONE WITH A FEW PROJECTS. PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU NEED IT BACK SOONER, HOWEVER, AND I WILL BRING IT RIGHT OVER!" He pauses, then adds, "THAT SAID, I SHOULD GIVE YOU MY CELLPHONE NUMBER IN CASE SUCH A NEED ARISES!"

"Oh, yes please!" you say, more for the sake of being able to chat with Papyrus than for any genuine concern you might need your sewing machine back in a hurry. You exchange numbers and he grins at you before stepping out the door.

Sans is at your side then, and you smile at him. "Thanks for coming," you say. "I had a lot of fun."

"me too, kid," he says with one of his lopsided smiles. You start to wave goodbye as he steps out the door, but he takes you off guard when he turns unexpectedly and catches your hand in his. Mimicking his brother, he bows low, the gesture making you blush in a way you hadn't for Papyrus. Unlike his brother, however, he doesn't stop there, but brushes your knuckles with his lips before straightening. "sleep well, m'lady," he tells you quietly, then spins on heel and steps out into the cold and snow to catch up with Papyrus.

Frozen in your open door more by shock than the cold rolling in from outdoors, you're still standing there when both skeletons turn and wave one last time before disappearing into the tree-line. You lift a hand in turn, then finally close the door on the frigid night, heart beating out a frantic tattoo behind your rib cage.

* * *

 **AN:** Well there we have it, hope you enjoyed it ;D If you did, make sure to drop a review and let me know your favorite part, that kind of stuff super makes my day! Next chapter, get ready for something a little... different.


	8. Huff Puff

**AN:** Thank you so much to everyone that left a review for me last week, they totally made my day and I loved every single one of them! Bless ;w;

Hard right turn into drama ahoy! Enjoy the chapter ;D

* * *

 **Winter in your Bones  
** Chapter Eight: Huff Puff

Just over a week later it's colder than ever and you've only seen Sans once, when you made your trip into town together. You had tried to get him to linger after the fact for dinner again, but this time he'd refused. Not, he insisted, because of anything you had done or said, but because he had things to take care of at home. He was distracted all day, but you couldn't pull a reason out of him no matter how subtly you coaxed him. However, when you stopped at one of the smaller grocery stores for some regular, non-bulk items you needed in town, you caught him lingering in the pharmacy aisle, brow furrowed as he read over labels on boxes of medicine.

"Pap's not sick, is he?" you'd finally worked up the nerve to ask, and he'd glanced at you in surprise.

"no," he'd admitted, though that only lead you to guess that whoever else was living out there with him might be.

"Does human medicine even work on monsters?" you'd asked when he lapsed into silence again.

Sans sighed. "Yeah, but we metabolize it differently," he explained and dropped a few of the boxes into his basket. You realized then he must have been calculating alternate doses and you grimaced inwardly at interrupting.

You hardly got a laugh out of him all day, though more than once you found him giving you a grateful smile instead, clearly appreciative of your attempts to take his mind off things, even if it didn't necessarily work.

So he'd gone home, and you hadn't heard from him since, despite having texted. That's nothing new, though, considering where you live and the crappy reception. Still, you hope everyone is doing alright.

Merlin proves antsy today when you go out to check on him, so you decide to double up on layers and take him on an extra long ride. It's freezing out, and as you saddle your horse you find yourself wondering if your friends are keeping warm enough, wherever it is they call home out there in the woods. As an afterthought, you grab your rifle from the cabin and slip it into its holster on your saddle, but decide to leave your pistol at home.

The ride is pleasant at first. The day is bright and clear and beautiful; so bright you have to make sure to bring a pair of sunglasses to spare your eyes the glare off the snow. The pair of you venture around the lake, and rather than head directly back to the cabin like you have been, you push Merlin up a narrow path and into the woods.

It's darker here under the trees and you push your sunglasses up onto your woolen cap now that you no longer need them. Some ways in, Merlin's ears flick back and forth uneasily and he hesitates, but you push him on with a few encouraging words and a firm tap of your heels against his sides.

In retrospect, you really ought to have trusted your horse's instincts; they were obviously better than your own.

Still, loyal creature that he is, Merlin does as he's bid, though you can tell he doesn't like it by the way he champs at his bit.

"What is _wrong_ with you today?" you complain affectionately and slap the creature fondly on the neck when he comes to a dead stop. He snorts and steps backwards, making you frown and give the reigns a firm tug. "Come on, none of that you ornery-"

The growing shadows amongst the trees shift subtly at the corner of your vision and you snap around to look just in time to catch a glimpse of several sleek, silvery figures vanishing among the spruce.

" _Shit,_ " you swear and take a firmer grip on the reins. You give them a sharp snap and knee Merlin hard, making him jump forward with a start . At your urging, the horse breaks into a trot as you guide him away from the path and make a straight shot in the direction of your cabin, heart pounding in your chest. You don't dare push him into a canter, though, not with the snow as deep as it is, and the footing so unsure.

A howl rings out through the trees, lonely at first, but soon echoed by more voices than you can immediately distinguish. You start to reach for your rifle where it sits behind your right hip, but Merlin lurches and stumbles on an unseen obstacle under the snow and you're forced to grab the saddle pommel to keep your seat.

You'd been ahead of the wolves, but now they close in around you as Merlin regains his balance and breaks into a run again. All white, silver, and black, they flow seamlessly between the shadows of the trees, dancing in and out of your peripheral vision so that you don't know if you're pursued by five or twelve of the damn things. They're herding you, that much is certain, and when you reach a small clearing, they finally make their move.

Two lunge for Merlin's legs, and you hold on tight as the buckskin lashes out with his rear hooves and catches one a vicious blow on the temple, sending it flying into the bushes with an agonized yelp. You shift your weight to match your horse's movements as it bucks viciously, keeping the wolves at bay, but while you're a competent rider, you're no rodeo star.

Merlin rears with a terrible scream and flails his front hooves to ward off the wolf that had lunged for the cannon of his left leg. It does the trick, but unfortunately, his success is your undoing. You fly from the saddle, and you feel as though you hang motionless in the air for an impossibly long moment before the ground is suddenly rushing up at you with terrifying speed. You hit it hard, taking the brunt of the impact on your left hip, though your shoulder receives its fair share in return for sparing your head.

You cry out in pain, though immediately know it would have been worse if not for the depth of the snow. Panicked and breathing hard you lunge unsteadily to your feet in time to see Merlin land one last brutal kick, then break the line and bolt, leaving you alone.

Before the wolves even turn to look at you, your right hand is pushing up the back of your jacket to grab the pistol you keep holstered there when you go out-

Your blood turns to ice as your hand finds nothing. You curse yourself for ten kinds of fool when you abruptly recall that you had left your pistol back at the cabin, figuring the rifle would be enough… the same rifle that is currently strapped to the saddle of your fleeing horse.

The bulk of the wolves take off after Merlin, but three of them remain, their attention fixated intently on you, the easier, slower prey. Everything goes very sharp in that moment as the adrenaline kicks in with a vengeance and you suddenly feel as though you could count every one of those gleaming teeth at a glance while the wolves advance. They growl low in their throats and you back away slowly, trying to keep one eye on the hungry predators as you look for an out.

You know there isn't one, though. There's no way you're going to outrun three fucking wolves in the woods when there's a good mile of trees between you and your cabin with the happy addition of a minimum two feet of snow on the ground the entire way. You'll be dead before you leave the clearing.

You spot it then; a sturdy looking birch with branches your adrenaline heightened senses are certain you can reach, even if you wouldn't dare attempt it on a normal day. Still, it's the best bet you have, so you turn your back carefully to the tree and start inching towards it, your legs bent and ready to bolt as soon as you're close enough, arms outstretched in a soothing motion in vain hope that maybe the wolves will be reasonable about this whole coming to dinner thing.

"Good dogs," you coo while a distant, stupid part of your fear addled brain notes that you're starting to feel an awful lot like Chris Pratt right about now, but with none of his skill in taming large, voracious predators.

You want to laugh at the thought, but one of the wolves chooses that moment to lunge, and without thinking you spin on heel and bolt for the tree, terror giving your feet wings as you plough through snow that reaches up past your knees, dragging furiously at your every step. You reach the tree and plant one boot right at its base and push off, scrambling up its trunk so fast you're not entirely sure how you get your gloved hands around the lowest branch. But you _do,_ and you're screaming with panic as you hear the wolves snapping at your dangling heels until you drag yourself onto it with a pull up that would have done your high school gym teacher proud.

You want nothing more than to lay on that branch and shake and cry and catch your breath, but the wolves are doing their damndest to get up the tree after you, and their teeth are coming dangerously close to your hanging knees with every leap they make. Soon they're going to figure out they could probably spring off the trunk to give them those few extra inches, so you can't afford to just lay there.

Sobbing for breath, you push yourself upright again and scoot backward along the branch until your back is to the trunk. Getting your snowy boots under you so you can push yourself up high enough to grab the next branch nearly sends you headlong into empty space and the wolve's stomachs, but your shaking hands manage to clutch the tree at your back and keep you from going over.

Whatever adrenaline fueled temporary madness had given you the strength to dead lift yourself onto that first branch has abandoned you now, leaving your arms shaking and your chest aching. Luckily, your goal is not nearly so high this time, and after taking a moment to kick the worst of the ice and snow out of the tread of your boots, you find you're able to walk yourself partially up the tree once you have a hold on that branch, and haul yourself onto it, putting you safely out of reach of the wolves.

Your entire body trembles and tears of relief roll unashamedly down your face as you fight to catch your breath. The wolves seem to realize that you've escaped them for the time being, and they give up trying to climb the tree after you. Unfortunately, they don't leave. For nearly half an hour they pace around the clearing, watching and waiting for you to either fall or descend of your own accord. The rest of the pack returns, then, and initially you're relieved to see their muzzles are unstained by blood, which you take to mean Merlin got away safe.

The warm feeling leaves you quickly as you realize that his escape likely means your own end.

Panic waning, your hindbrain finally releases control to your higher mental functions and you remember your cellphone. A moment's frantic digging through your coat soon produces it, and you force yourself to take a breath and slowly remove it from your pocket so you don't fumble the thing and doom yourself twice in one day. In the upper lefthand corner of the screen, however, two little words have replaced the usual bars, and you feel your stomach drop out from under you.

 _NO SIGNAL,_ your phone proclaims, and you barely resist the urge to scream and throw it from you out of frustration. Instead, you partially unzip your jacket and shove your cell down into your bra against your skin so it will stay warm. The kind of cold the world has decided to inflict on you today can drain a battery in no time flat, and if you're going to have any chance at all of escaping this, you know you can't let that happen. You zip your coat back up and then settle in for the wait while the wolves below do the same.

You count ten of them, and even from this distance you marvel at their size. Until now you've never been this close to a wolf in your life, and you wonder what brings them to your particular neck of the woods. Perhaps the winter has been too harsh deeper in the mountains, making the forests hard to traverse, and game scarce, sending them closer to civilization by degrees.

Whatever the reason for their coming here, their patience proves far greater than you would have anticipated. Three hours later it's almost full dark and they're still at the base of the tree waiting for you to fall or give up. Your awe has turned to spite, and you hope that your corpse freezes to the tree when you inevitably die of hypothermia so they won't get to eat you. You feel a little guilty at the thought a moment later, though.

They're just animals looking to survive, there's nothing wicked or vindictive in their actions. Problem is, their will to survive is threatening to infringe on your own.

Another hour passes and you're shivering in earnest now. You dressed for the weather, but even the best outdoor gear can't fend off sub-zero temperatures indefinitely, especially when you're sitting in a tree rather than moving around. You try to move as much as you can to keep your blood up, standing on your branch and doing some squats while holding onto another limb overhead that's too thin for you to climb up onto, but enough to keep you steady. You cry out for help a few times, but when your throat starts to become sore you leave off with a sigh, knowing there's no one around to hear you.

You're getting tired, though, and it's full dark now. You don't trust your arms or legs to support you as you move, so you huddle against the trunk of the tree and do what you can to keep warm. You check your phone periodically, and though you broke down and have tried calling Sans, Papyrus, 911, _and_ your neighbors multiple times now, not a single one has gone through. The fact that you have apparently been doomed by a cell tower blind spot just feels like par for the course. Your cold stiffened fingers manage to type out text messages (pictures included) in hopes that someone will at least know where to find your remains some day when your texts go through. It's a morbid thought, but as time winds on and you stop shivering all together, your impending end sits heavy in your mind.

You don't have too many regrets, at least. Few that come to your increasingly sluggish mind, anyways. Oh there's plenty you'll _miss,_ of course, but that's not the same as regrets. For example, you're going to _miss_ Sans, but you _regret_ never having kissed him. You regret not having a chance to get to know Papyrus. You regret not spending longer on the phone with your mom and dad the last time you were in town. Should have said more than your usual 'love ya' before you hung up. You regret forgetting to call your grandmother on her birthday last month. You'd sent her a letter, at least. She liked that kind of thing.

You regret not kissing Sans.

You blink slowly at the thought and you realize you've already listed that one. Heck of a regret, you guess tiredly as your head drops against the trunk of the tree.

You still feel _so cold,_ but even though that is a miserable agony, you also know that as soon as you start feeling warm again, it'll be the beginning of the end; your body's final death throes for an ignominious end up a tree.

The cold makes your bones ache and you'd cry with the pain of it all if you were able, but you seem to be past that now and it makes you wonder if maybe your tear ducts haven't frozen. Your thoughts drift aimlessly and you wonder if this is how Sans felt that first night when he forced his way into your cabin and crawled into bed with you. You'd certainly do the same thing right about now.

You try to flex your hands and your fingers barely manage to curl. It _hurts,_ but you keep doing it anyways, and mimic the motion with your toes. You probably already have frostbite, and the part of you that's exhausted and ready to throw in the towel wonders why you're bothering. Frostbite hardly matters to a corpse. A bolt of anger runs up your spine at the thought, and it grants you some small modicum of energy to keep up the exercise, if only out of spite. You refuse to just lay down and give up, even though that's all every bone in your body is longing for with each second that passes…

Below you, the wolves stir and get to their feet, ears pricking forward, then pressing flat back against their skulls as something far more frightening than them approaches from the shadows.

Someone calls your name, and you blink in confusion. Again, and this time you recognize the voice.

"S-sans," you stammer, voice barely able to reach above a whisper, let alone a shout.

But there he is at the edge of the clearing, star bright eyes snapping up to you even as you say his name, and you wonder just how good his hearing really is, or if it's only coincidence. You wonder if you're dreaming.

"hang on kid," he tells you, the rich tones of his voice even more musical to your ears than normal. "we're gonna get you home, just hold on a moment longer," the skeleton says, and you feel the tears you'd thought had frozen over prick painfully at the corners of your eyes.

As you watch, one of Sans' eyes goes dark, and the other flares a sharp, painful shade of blue that stands out like a beacon in the dark. The monster raises a hand, and two skulls appear behind him, wolf-like and crowned with long horns, same as the one Sans summoned that night you'd first learned about his magic. Unlike that skull, however, these are larger than Sans himself, and though they make no sound, when their jaws drop, you'd swear you could hear something echo through the dark. Not with your ears, but with your… with your very _soul._ It's a terrible sound that would have sent you cold if you weren't near numb already, and as it is it makes your heart pound in your chest.

The skulls have eyes that blaze the same shade of blue as their master's, and as light began to bloom within the depths of their heavy jaws, the wolves at the base of your arboreal prison scatter, yelping with terror. Twin blasts of energy erupt from the monstrous apparitions and strike the ground just behind the retreating predators to make sure they stay well and truly gone.

A sharp wave of Sans' hand banishes the skulls and he wastes no time racing to the foot of the tree, eyes back to normal once more. He calls your name again and you relish the sound of it, delirium taking its toll on your higher mental functions.

"can you climb down?" he asks, concerned when you not only don't respond to your name, but don't make a move once the wolves are gone.

"No," you manage to reply, voice soft and raspy from the yelling you'd been doing earlier, as well as a lack of water.

Good thing for you your friend has such good hearing.

Sans swears and then says, "alright. I'm going to use my magic to bring you down, do you understand?" he asks, and you realize he's speaking slowly, as one would to a child to make sure they understood. You'd feel offended but you can't muster the strength, so you just whisper an affirmative. "don't move, whatever you do, okay?" he warns, and you wonder if what he's about to attempt is dangerous. On the other hand, even if it is, it can hardly be worse than dying of hypothermia up a birch tree, so you nod.

Sans takes several steps back, and as you watch, he lifts a hand in your direction, then _pulls._ At the same time, you experience a strange tightness in your chest, just below your breastbone, and then a curious sense of lightness. Before you can blink, you're drifting effortlessly through the air the way you dreamed so many times as a child, an incredible, softly buzzing energy flowing through you. The only thing you can think to compare it to is that charged moment a split second before lightning strikes nearby when your hair stands on end and it feels as though the world is holding its breath around you, and then…

And then you're in Sans' arms and he's holding you as effortlessly as he did that night you watched The Princess Bride together and he carried you to bed.

The sensation of his magic fades, leaving you feeling curiously empty, though it's quickly replaced by a deep, almost painful joy to be right where you are in that moment, with the person you'd been so desperately hoping to see.

"You found me," you whisper, and the last of your tears trickles down your cheek as you lay motionless in his arms, unable to even lift your own to twine around his neck.

Sans' expression as he looks down at you is agonized for a moment, and he fights to smile for your sake. It's a struggle, but he manages a brittle, lopsided grin as he says, "'course i did, kid."

It's painful to watch, and you know he's probably doing something stupid like blaming himself for not realizing you were chased by wolves and stuck up a tree. It's just like him, and you want to tell him not to, but you just can't seem to muster the words, so you smile instead.

"how long were you up there, tarzan?" Sans asks as he starts walking, trudging through the snow with far more ease than you had managed earlier in the day. He's forcing himself to keep a light tone, you can tell, but you don't answer. He glances down at you. "c'mon, talk to me, sweetheart," he pleads, and the naked fear that slips into his voice is enough to make you speak.

"Since before sunset," you manage quietly, eyes fluttering shut as the gentle sway of his stride threatens to lull you to sleep. The monster swears again, and you crack open an eye to note that his unsteady smile has slipped again. "Those wolves really had a _bone_ to pick with me," you mumble.

Sans nearly trips and you hiss in pain when his grip shifts and he knocks the hip you'd landed on when Merlin threw you. A giggle that verges on hysterical slips out of the skeleton and you smile again.

"That tree's _bark_ was almost worse than their _bite,_ mind you," you continue. "Thought I was gonna go _howling_ mad waiting for them to leave."

"stop," he gasps, laughing, but you see tears threatening at the corners of his eye sockets, which you didn't realize was possible. There's certainly something strange about them, in any case. His tears are a faint shade of gently luminous blue, and they cling more stubbornly to the corners of his eye sockets than yours would, as though they're a thicker sort of fluid. Maybe they're liquid magic, you think.

"Sorry," you mumble. "My jokes too ar- _bore-_ eal for you?" you ask. Apparently the verge of death was when you really brought your punning a-game; who knew?

"woman, i am _trying_ to save your life. how is _now_ the moment you decide to turn into a goddamn comic?"

"Sorry," you repeat. "Just don't _leaf_ me behind."

Sans laughs as the tears break free of his eye sockets and roll down his cheekbones to gather along his jaw before dripping onto your upturned face. They're warm, almost hot against your frozen skin, and you finally muster the strength to reach up and brush his cheeks dry with one of your gloved hands.

"Don't cry," you murmur gently.

"i'm not," he insists as more tears spill down his face.

You wipe those away too. "Oh, right, forgot it rains at negative ten sometimes," you say with a soft huff that is as much of a laugh as you can manage at the moment.

He glances down at you and notes the presence of his own tears on your cheeks and brow. "weather's a funny thing, isn't it?"

A hum is all he gets from you in response as he turns his attention back to walking. Darkness overtakes you for a moment, and you feel that strange surge of energy that echoes through your soul and along your skin. You blink and it's gone, though, and you _swear_ you're in a different part of the forest.

"Did I just black out?" you ask, a note of concern finally worming its way into your voice.

"no," he answers, much to your relief. "i-uh… took a shortcut," Sans continues awkwardly, and you're quiet a moment while you process this.

"How do you mean," you ask eventually when your cold plagued mental faculties prove insufficient to the task.

Sans sighs. "it's like short range teleportation," he admits. "half a mile in a go is about my limit, though," he says.

"You can teleport?" you ask, dumbfounded. Your magical skeleton friend can move things with his mind, conjure bones, summon terrifying eldritch monsters that fire lasers from their mouths, _and_ fucking teleport _?_

"sweetheart, how about we talk about this when you're firing on all cylinders and not literally on the verge of turning into a popsicle."

"Wonder what flavor I'd be."

"sea salt," he answers without missing a beat, and you huff a laugh again as you watch his face.

Overhead, the moonless sky is full of stars interlaced with vast, miles long ribbons of green and crimson light that coil and twist lazily as you watch. Sans trudges on, his attention all for the rapidly approaching cabin while yours remains fixated on the sky. In that moment of quiet that is interrupted only by his breath and yours, and the soft crunch of snow beneath his boots, you swear you can hear the aurora. The soft, static hiss and pop that whispers in the air above you in time to the shift of the northern lights feels like the voice of an old friend welcoming you home as Sans opens your front door with a flash of magic and carries you inside.

* * *

 **AN:** Lol whoops them cliff hangers tho ='D Hope you enjoyed, and if you did, DO remember to take just a few moments out of your day to let me know what you thought, and what your favorite part was! I _live_ for that stuff, guys, you have no idea!

Also, no joke, this whole premise of a woman getting chased up a tree by wolves is loosely based on a true story that happened a few years back not far from where I used to work 8'D It happened during the summer, though. A woman went out jogging on a path on the local air force base with her dog by herself (seriously plz don't ever fucking do that), and the resident wolf pack that was _known_ to live in the area caught up with them. They chased her down and she escaped by climbing up a tree. Her dog, obviously, was not able to join her, and it was too big to carry, so it was stuck down on the ground. Miraculously, the wolves left it alone, just settled down at the base of that tree and _waited_ for her to come down. She didn't, though, and several hours later they up and left and the woman and her dog booked it back to her car. Lessons here are 1) don't ever fucking go out in the woods alone up here, and 2) _bring a fucking gun._


	9. A Patient Soul

**AN:** Your patience has paid off! Here we are with the results of last week's cliffhanger! Things get a tad naughty this chapter, just a heads up ;) surely that's what you're all waiting for if you're reading _this_ fic, tho, lol.

Make sure to drop a review if you enjoy, and let me know your favorite part! Hearing that is always super interesting for me and makes my day!

* * *

 **Winter in Your Bones  
** Chapter Nine: A Patient Soul

Sans pushes his way past the frantically barking Lucy that greets the both of you, and kicks the door shut behind him.

"Fire," you mumble as the blessed warmth of your own home washes over you. The lights are all still out, and you feel bad for your dog being left in the dark all day. A silly thought, considering what you've been through yourself, but one that occupies you all the same.

Sans carries you to the sofa and sets you down carefully before turning to the fireplace and getting the wood in the grate lit without so much as a comment. You wish he'd make a joke, but you suppose you can't blame him if his sense of humor has chosen now of all times to abandon him. You'd hardly be punning if it had been _him_ on the verge of death, after all.

While your friend does his part to get you warm, you do yours and start stripping off your outdoor things. Everything comes off easy enough, but the boots are beyond you, and you're about to give up when Sans suddenly appears again. His hand catches your calf gently and steadies it as he tugs your boot off and casts it aside, then does the same for the other.

"Thanks," you manage, relieved to be rid of them. Sans is crouched at your feet, and behind him you can see the gentle glow of a fresh fire, leaving you surprised that he was able to start it so quickly. You don't have the energy to spare wondering if he got it going with magic, so you focus more on getting out of the rest of your things instead.

"What are you doing?" Sans asks, voice a little strangled when you fumble with the button of your pants and start struggling to shimmy them down over your hips.

You look at him tiredly and sag back against the cushions of the sofa. "'Got so cold I started to sweat and it froze," you explain. "Not gonna get warm if I don't get these off," you add with a weak wave of your hand. "Help?"

Sans sighs, but seems ready to follow your instructions, and between the two of you (you lifting your hips and him tugging), you're quickly divested of your pants. You do both of you a favor and leave your underwear in place, though while Sans goes to your bed to fetch your blanket, you tug off your top. Again, some stupid, fanciful part of your brain rues the fact that you're not wearing matching bra and panties (because of course you aren't), and another equally moronic part chimes in that at least they're cute.

You feel your comforter drop over your shoulders, and you instinctively wrap it tightly around you before removing your bra as well and tossing that aside. Sans moves into your line of sight and without so much as a by your leave, picks you up once again and then places you in front of the fire. You try to sit up under your own power, but you sag without even realizing it until he's forced to put a knee in your back to keep you from toppling.

There's the sound of fabric rustling as Sans divests himself of his own winter gear while also keeping you upright before sitting down directly behind you. His legs go to either side of yours, and you lean heavily back against his chest.

"How are you feeling?" he asks right by your ear, immediately recalling you to a week previous when you'd been cuddled up on the couch with him and Papyrus. After the day you've had, it feels like an eternity ago, but having him wrapped around you here in the present is a little slice of heaven.

"Tired," you barely manage to eek out.

Sans chafes your arms with his hands through the blanket, jostling you. "stay awake for me, sweetheart," he tells you, voice grim. "i don't trust you to sleep right now."

You nod a little, head lolling to one side until it comes to a rest back against his collarbone. "I wouldn't trus' me t' sleep either," you mumble. There's something important you should tell him, you know, but you're struggling to remember. After a moment, though, a faint spark echoes in your darkening mind and you say, "'s bad sign if I don't start shiverin' soon."

The monster goes still behind you and asks, "what do you mean?"

"Hypothermia. Get s'cold your body shuts down..." you explain weakly, struggling to string together a coherent sentence. "I stopped shiver'n awhile ago. S'how your body… whatsit… warms 'self up."

You feel Sans' grip on your arms tighten, and you want to tell him it hurts, but you can't. "what do i do if you don't start shivering?" he asks, and though you can tell he's trying so very hard to sound calm, there's a sharp edge to his voice that gives away his internal panic.

"Nothing," you sigh after a moment. "Hospital's over an hour away n' you can't drive."

You could have heard a pin drop had one been so inclined in that dramatic silence. The gravitas of the moment goes right over your head and you wiggle your toes a little where they rest before the fire. They hurt with the temperature change, but you're not sure it'll be enough at this point.

Sans says your name, breaking the silence at long last and you hum lightly in response. "there might be something i could try," he says, words slow and measured as he carefully loosens his grip on your arms. You hum again to show you're listening, and he continues. "what do you know about soul magic?"

You blink and your brow furrows as you try to think. Even on a normal day you don't _think_ you know much about the unique power monsters have over souls, but sluggish as you are it's hard to be sure. "Not a lot," you finally say.

Realizing he's not going to get much out of you as far as coherent responses go, Sans explains. "Monsters are capable of… affecting human souls with our magic."

"My soul… " you mumble, starting to get an inkling of where he's going.

"my magic can affect physical changes on a body just by touching your soul," he explains, hoping you understand. "Like how i brought you down from the tree earlier," he adds to clarify.

You nod in turn, recalling the feeling of warmth that had spread through you as his magic wrapped around you. Understanding what he's asking, you turn your head slightly so you can finally meet his eyes with yours. Sans' eyelights are tiny pinpricks in his sockets, and though his expression is carefully neutral, you can tell by the set of his jaw just how worried he is.

"I trust you," you say and manage to muster a fleeting, tired smile for him.

It's nearly his undoing, and you don't miss the tears that threaten at the corners of his eyes. He quickly blinks them away, though, and nods.

"alright, don't move and just… just breathe for me, sweetheart," he pleads quietly in your ear as you let your head drop to a more comfortable position once more.

"Breathin' I think I can manage," you mumble with a soft huff of amusement at the thought that he was concerned you might just stop at any moment. Then again, maybe he has every right to be…

Without another word, Sans slips his hand around to your front, and you watch him flatten his palm in the air just a few inches away from the center of your chest, then makes a sort of _plucking_ motion as his hand glows that familiar shade of cyan…

And there's that peculiar tugging sensation behind your breastbone again, only this time it continues on building until something inside you finally releases, and you sag bonelessly back against Sans like a puppet with its strings cut. The monster makes a small noise and you open eyes that you didn't realize you had even closed. There, floating above his palm, is what you presume is your soul.

"'S pretty," you manage, though you feel like it's probably the understatement of the century when it comes to seeing the physical manifestation of everything you are as a sentient being for the first time.

A small, choked laugh escapes Sans and you smile a little, basking in the glow of your own soul. You don't _feel_ particularly different, so far as you can tell, though it does seem as if everything is just a bit sharper. Sights, smells, sounds, feelings… the pain in your leg and shoulder has gone from a dull throb to a sharp ache that pulses with every beat of your heart.

"Did you make it that color?" you ask, brow furrowing curiously when you note that it appears to be the same color as Sans' own magic. Beyond the color, your soul is actually a little hard to describe, you realize absently, though you're not sure if you're just overwhelmed or if they're really that hard for humans to comprehend. In the end, you decide that the shape reminds you a bit of a heart; not a real physical pump your blood kind of heart, but the cartoon sort if you could get those made out of what seemed to be living fire. It flickers and shifts above Sans' palm, hypnotic to watch, and for a moment you're both enraptured.

"no," he answers eventually. "that's all you, sweetheart."

You smile a little. "We match."

Sans is quiet again before he finally murmurs, "we do." He takes a breath, then says, "i'm going to start."

You nod, unperturbed. You'd meant what you said before; you trust Sans, even with your literal soul.

Magic flows around his hand, matching the color of your soul, then he carefully closes his fingers around that living fire and lights burst behind your eyes. A little shuddering gasp escapes you and you press back harder into him; you hear him ask if you're okay and it's all you can do to nod.

The sensation of his fingers on that most fundamental piece of you is difficult to describe, and overwhelms your senses. It's as though someone is touching you everywhere and nowhere all at once, and that feeling of a pending lightning strike returns. Electricity crackles just under your skin when your heart suddenly jumps in your chest, working overtime, and without thinking, your hands go to Sans' knees and grip him tightly. You start to shiver and you force your eyes open to watch the way the monster's pale, glowing fingers sweep gently over the surface of your soul where it rests in his palm. You had thought it like fire, but it has mass to it, soft and fluttering like a bird as you watch, head pressed back into his shoulder as his legs tighten around your hips.

"you're alright, i've got you," he reassures you gently, and you swear to god you can _feel_ his voice. Not vibrating through your back from his chest like normal, but echoing in every fiber of your being, its warm, silk tones pure ecstasy over your ragged nerves. It feels _good_. So good that a small whimper escapes you in spite of your efforts to muffle the urge. "you're okay," Sans murmurs and you ride that sweet wave again, breath shuddering in your chest as you stop shivering and break out in a sweat beneath your blanket.

The longer his fingers move, the more you feel an incredible energy building within you. It's focused in your chest at first, as though tethered to your soul's origin, but soon spreads to fill you from head to toe, searing the cold from your bones and dragging you back from the brink you had been so very close to toppling over.

He says your name and that strange yet familiar heat shoots straight south in a way that makes you press your legs together and your toes curl. An ache builds at the apex of your thighs and you gasp, your grip on Sans' knees tightening convulsively again.

"stay with me," he murmurs, voice low, intimate, and pleading as his lips brush the curve of your ear. In his moment of distraction, his fingers slip fractionally, plunging deeper into the soft heat of your soul's core in a way that echoes fiercely in your body, sending you gasping over the edge.

Your back arches as you ride that cresting wave of pleasure with a cry, head thrown back as your legs twist around one another in a vain attempt to stop the orgasm that ripples through you. Startled, Sans' free hand goes to your stomach to keep you from leaning forward as your blanket slips to one side, but with magic actively echoing through him, his touch only intensifies the sensation. You gasp his name raggedly, and before he can think to pull his palm from the flat of your belly, you press yours on top of his and somehow you _know_ he can feel it too. A shiver surges up the length of him and he swears as he pushes backwards reflexively, but does not loosen his hold on you. Together you topple to the floor and wind up in a heap of limbs and blanket between the sofa and the fireplace, both panting and shaking.

"j-jesus," he breathes, voice rough as an aftershock ripples through him, making him groan and roll his hips unconsciously before sagging weakly back against the floor once more. "i'm sorry," he manages after a breathless moment. "shit, i'm so sorry i didn't mean to-"

 _Sorry_? He's _sorry?!_ One more sorry like that, you think distantly through a fugue of warmth and pure, unadulterated bliss, and you're going to have to marry him on the spot.

A strangled noise escapes Sans where he lays next to you, his legs tangled with yours, arm trapped under your head. You muster the energy to glance at him and he's so blue in the face he could be a blueberry.

"I said that out loud, didn't I?"

"yeah," he says, voice rough and awkward, though he does at least meet your eyes, which is promising.

"Sorry," you say, feeling far too tired and warm and happy to even manage being embarrassed in that moment. You'll probably want to throw yourself off the nearest mountaintop come morning, though.

For a minute the both of you simply lay there catching your breath and listening to the gentle crackling of the fire. Your soul has vanished, gone back to where it came from, you body begins to cool to a more normal temperature and you shift a little to bring the blanket fully over you, half covering Sans in the process. The movement draws his attention back to your face, and he frowns at your left shoulder where he can see it peeping out from under the covers.

He rolls onto his side and brushes the blanket down just a little, exposing the nasty bruise that is already beginning to blossom there. "what the hell happened?" he asks, eyes going to yours.

You glance down at the offending body part and grimace. "Merlin threw me," you say, then sigh. "My hip's probably worse."

The skeleton outright scowls, an expression you haven't seen on him often. "I still can't believe he bolted on you."

Your eyebrows shoot up and you laugh weakly, taking your friend off guard. "Sans, for goodness sake, he's a _horse._ He didn't throw me on purpose, he's just an animal acting on instinct when a bunch of damn wolves were trying to _eat_ him."

Sans is still frowning, but the severity of it does lighten some. "still..." he begins, but you cut him off.

"Still nothing, bonehead," you say and reach out to poke him in the cheek, making your blanket shift dangerously. You snatch at it before continuing, "He did what he had to survive. Not his fault I couldn't hold on." You sigh, then suddenly go rigid and sit bolt upright. This time Sans makes a grab for your blanket and settles it around your shoulders again as you turn to look at him, wide-eyed and panicked. "Where _is_ Merlin? Did he make it back? Is-"

"he's fine," Sans answers immediately, cutting you off before you can work yourself into a panic. "he's how i knew something was wrong," the monster admits and you shoot him a questioning look, so he continues. "i went into town today and decided to stop in to say hi. merlin was pressed up next to the external vent of your cabin still fully saddled and your lights were out. I put him in the stable and followed his tracks back to you."

Your friend's expression is grim as he relates the story, gaze fixated on the fire in the grate. You reach out to him reflexively, your hand brushing over the soft cotton of the hoodie he's wearing and his eyelights flicker back to you. You know he's dwelling on the fact that it was mere happenstance that you didn't die tonight, and you open your mouth to speak, but words fail. You frown a little until Sans reaches up to where your hand is resting on his shoulder and covers it with his own.

"Thank you," you manage eventually. It's woefully inadequate considering the fact that he _saved your life_ , but you don't know what else to say. "Sans, if it weren't for you, I-"

" **d o n ' t** ," he pleads, voice rough and eye sockets dark as he pulls you into his arms and bears you back down onto the floor, still wrapped in your blanket. His arms go around you and bind you tight to the hard plane of his chest, your head tucked under his chin. You swear you feel him tremble when he takes a deep breath and repeats in a gentler, almost heart-broken tone, "don't."

You go still, then nod and turn to bury your face in his hoodie. You start to shake, and though you've clamped your eyes shut tight, a few tears squeeze free and roll down your cheeks. A sob threatens to escape you, but you manage to muffle it and push your arms out from under your blanket and wrap one around Sans' ribs while the other clutches at his hoodie. Your shoulder aches fiercely, but you ignore it in favor of the greater comfort afforded you by the monster's embrace. He wraps his legs around your bare ones, the rough fabric of his carhartts chafing your cold abused skin, but you still can't get enough until his hold on you is so tight you feel he might squeeze the breath from you.

He's murmuring something into your hair, and it takes you a moment to make out the words. "you're safe. you're alright. you're home, i'm here." He saysit like a mantra, reverent as a prayer. "i've got you."

More tears escape your eyes and you tighten your hold on Sans as you press your face into his sweater, which absorbs them just as quickly as they fall.

The pair of you remain there for some time until you've cried yourself out and you lay exhausted and boneless in his arms. Sans has loosened his own grip on you, though not by much, and you appreciate that. The tightness with which he holds you makes you feel… loved. Protected.

"we should get you to bed," Sans says eventually, words soft and breathy against your hair.

You sigh. "I need to go check on Merlin first."

You feel Sans pull away a little so he can look down at you, and you turn your face up to meet his eyes.

The expression on his face is one of disbelief as he says, "if you think i'm letting you out of this damn cabin tonight then you left your brain back in that tree." You open your mouth to object and his mouth twists as he continues, " _i_ will go check on your damn horse. _you_ will get in bed."

You want to argue, but your entire body feels so drained you don't think you could make it to the door, let alone all the way out to the stable, never mind the effort of actually getting properly dressed first.

"Alright," you say finally and sigh again. Sans pulls away and you're half tempted to reach out and pull him right back in, but then his arms are around you and he's carrying you, blanket and all, for the second time that day. You grunt in pain as your bruises are jostled and he pauses a moment to let you get comfortable before starting towards the bed. Certain pressing physical needs make themselves known, however, and you say, "Actually, bathroom please, if you don't mind."

Sans adjusts course and places you down gently just inside the bathroom door, leaving you to haul the blanket in after you, blushing all the time. "Could you get me my pajamas off the nightstand?" you ask a little shyly.

"i gotcha," he reassures you and you flash him a grateful smile before closing the door and taking care of business. When you finish, you take a moment to look in the mirror and grimace at what you see there. Your cheeks and nose are ruddy, and not just from blushing, you know. Most likely frostnip, if not minor frostbite. The fingers of your hands, and your toes (when you manage to find them among the folds of your blanket) look much the same and you grimace. They already sting, and you know it's only going to get worse. You count yourself lucky that it's not as bad as it could have been, though. There will be some blistering and peeling as the dead skin detaches, but nothing is turning black, which means you won't be losing any digits.

Though you're weak and shaking like a lamb, you determinedly wipe yourself down with a warm washcloth to take away some of the sweat, then brush your hair. Feeling a little more human, you open the bathroom door and find Sans there waiting. He offers you your clothes, and you accept them before closing the door again.

You don't want to admit how relieved you are to see he also thought to grab some clean underwear from your underwear drawer, even if the thought of him rummaging through your intimates makes you blush again.

"You don't have to carry me everywhere," you tell Sans when he picks you up for the third time and carries you over to the bed. You're blushing now, though he likely can't tell thanks to the frostnip afflicting your cheeks, and your arms are around his neck.

"try and stop me," he challenges lightly, quirking a brow down at you. His grip on you tightens a little, but you don't mention it, even if it does make your heart jump a little in your chest.

"Don't listen to me, I'm just putting on a brave face," you say, and he chuckles as he leans down and places you with utmost gentleness on your mattress.

"you said it, not me, sweetheart," he muses as he carefully disentangles you from your blanket and tucks you in properly. Head resting on your favorite pillow, you look up at him and smile, and something in his expression flickers. Silently, he reaches out and gently brushes the hair back from your face, then allows his hand to linger along the crown of your head for a moment before saying, "i'll be back. stay put for once, will you?"

"Voracious wolves couldn't make me budge," you say with a yawn, knowing the joke is in bad taste, but unable to resist.

Sans grimaces, but lets out a soft huff of laughter in spite of himself. "my what big eyes you have," he muses mostly to himself with a smile as he withdraws his hand and goes to collect his winter things.

You smile and watch him, but you nod off before he's even out the door, though you stir again when he returns.

He's speaking to someone in low tones, and it takes every ounce of willpower you have to crack open an eye and try to figure out what he's up to. As the monster closes the door behind him and starts pulling off his outerwear, you realize he's on the phone, and not speaking to you at all. You let your eye close again and settle back more comfortably into your pillow, the low, gentle buzz of his voice carrying you into a light doze.

You catch snatches of his conversation, and it doesn't take much for you to figure out that he's talking to Papyrus despite being on the verge of sleep.

"...fine... no... not so i can tell." There was a long pause, and then, "you stay there with the others." Papyrus apparently didn't like that edict as what followed was another minute of hushed debate before, finally, "alright, but not until later. she needs rest, pap."

You don't catch the rest of their conversation as you finally drift off to sleep. When you feel the mattress shift, you wake and glance at the clock. It's been at least half an hour since he'd come back inside.

"What took you so long?" you mumble quietly as Sans reaches the head of the bed. There's a slight draft as he tugs aside the blankets and slips in next to you.

"didn't want to come to bed cold," he answers simply, and you smile into your pillow a little, appreciating the thought even if you don't have the energy to say as much.

Normally you prefer sleeping on your left side, but bruised as you are from your fall you've been forced onto your right instead, leaving you facing Sans' side of the bed. You reach out to him and your hand brushes his arm, which is unusually warm to the touch. You finally manage to open your eyes again, and it takes a moment, but your sleep fogged brain puts two and two together and you realize he must have stood in front of the fireplace for some time to dispel the cold from his bones so he wouldn't chill you in your already weakened state.

"Toasty," you mumble with a vague smile.

"yeah," he says with a soft, amused laugh. After a moment's silence, he continues, "you wanna-"

Without waiting for him to finish, you immediately push in close, surprising him with your eagerness. You can't see as much, however, since you've closed your eyes once more and now have your face buried in the warm cotton of his t-shirt. Exhaustion has apparently granted you a free pass in not only the embarrassment department, but downright shamelessness as well. You smile to yourself as you push your head up under Sans' chin and slip one arm over his ribs, fingers twining in his shirt and grazing lightly over the hard ridges of the monster's spine. One of your legs gets slipped between his, and you're glad to feel that the skeleton seems to have changed into something far softer than his carhartts. Maybe he found that pair of track pants he'd forgotten at your cabin after you'd gifted him your hand-me-downs. It occurs to you that maybe he'd done that intentionally, but you don't mind in the least as your other leg goes over his, effectively sandwiching it between your own.

Your feet wiggle a little with downright pleasure at this new sleeping arrangement, though you do your best to ignore the fact that his pelvis is pressing quite firmly into your stomach, as well as just how nice it feels.

When it finally seems you've settled yourself, Sans asks, "done having your way with me, your majesty?"

His tone is a little rough, and his breath stirs your hair as you smile and nuzzle your cheek against his ribs with a comfortable sigh. "Yeah, I'm good," you say and pull him in a little closer yet so your bodies are pressed flush against one another, the warmth his bones absorbed from the fire seeping pleasantly through your clothes and into your fatigued, aching muscles.

"oh, good," he muses softly, though you're already drifting off, and he hesitates a moment, clearly trying to decide what to do with his own arms. Eventually he gives up the ghost and pushes the bottom one under your pillow to further cushion your head, then wraps the other around your shoulders. "that okay?" he asks, but you don't answer. He cranes his head a little to get a look at your face and it's obvious you're dead to the world now, breath ghosting lightly against his sternum.

Sans' expression goes from rueful to tender as he watches you sleep, his typically difficult to read features plain as a children's book to anyone who happened to see him then. Luckily for the skeleton, there is only Lucy in her bed by your desk, and she was isn't about to give him away. Eventually he allows his eyes to close as well and presses his lips gently to the crown of your head. Sleep eludes him, but the certain knowledge of your safety there in his arms grants him some small respite. However, thoughts of how close he'd come to losing you haunt him and continue to stave off sleep for some hours.

* * *

 **AN:** Congrats, you lived! X'D As a side note, please DO call an ambulance if something like this ever happens haha, frostbite and hypothermia are NOT something to mess around with. The reason Reader didn't suggest it here is that she's likely far enough off the grid that an ambulance wouldn't actually come, or would have serious trouble doing so and might not show up even if they tried (plus, you know the dramuz, lol). When you start getting out to the parts of Alaska that don't have street names let alone paved roads things get...dicey. You're definitely taking your life in your own hands living out there, heh.

Make sure to drop a review and tell me your favorite part if you enjoyed! I love hearing that stuff!


	10. Soon

**AN:** inching ever closer to the end! D Enjoy the chapter and make sure to drop a review to tell me what your favorite part was! I always get a kick out of that, and the feedback definitely helps me keep writing!

* * *

 **Winter in your Bones**  
Chapter Ten: Soon

When you wake the next morning, eyes still resolutely closed against the daylight filtering in through the curtains, the first thing you think is how much you _hurt._ From head to toe, your every muscle aches right down into your bones. Your second thought concerns the fact that you really need to go to the bathroom, even though the idea of actually budging from bed sounds not only torturous, but literally impossible.

You sigh and stir reluctantly, which inspires your third thought, which involves your current sleeping position. You blink blearily and find yourself nose to chin with Sans, your head pillowed on the skeleton's shoulder, his arm still tucked under your pillow. You smile a little at this, remembering his offer to hold you the night previous. You'd started just pressed up flush to him, but over the course of the night he must have rolled onto his back and dragged you with him so you're half on top of him now, well on your way to slipping between his legs. The hard line of his hips are digging into yours in a way that's left you a bit sore since you're pretty sure you slept so heavily you didn't budge once in the night. You puzzle on the fact that there seems to be something _extra_ pressing into your stomach, however; something that makes you muzzily rethink that anatomy class you took back in high school.

Let's see, there was the coxal bone that made up the bulk of the hip and the pubic bone; if you felt like getting handsy you'd find his sacrum but that seemed rude and this definitely doesn't feel like a sacrum to you.

Nope, you've had enough boyfriends over the years to recognize morning wood when you felt it.

A blush creeps up your neck and makes the skin of your frost nipped cheeks sting, which helps distract you from your embarrassment a little. More than awkwardness, however, was downright _curiosity_ as to the technical details of a _skeleton_ getting a hard on in his sleep. The question of 'how' echoes over and over in your head, but you can come up with no answer beyond the catch-all response that is 'magic' (common when dealing with monsters, you were coming to realize). It was, after all, how Sans had explained his tongue when you'd finally worked up the nerve to ask awhile back.

It certainly opens up some interesting possibilities…

You threaten to go red again, and you glance up surreptitiously at Sans to gauge how deeply asleep he might be. To your eye he appears dead to the world (you muffle a snort at your own pun), mouth just slightly ajar thanks to the angle at which he's lying. You give some serious, if shameful, thought to just… giving your hips a little roll. You know, just to see what would happen.

You nibble your lip absently as you look at him from under your lashes, weighing your options. What would you do if he woke up and was mortified? After all, just because he has a hard on doesn't mean he's looking for anything along those lines from you. Assuming that this sort of thing works the same for monster males as it does for human ones, anyways. Still, he does _flirt_ with you, and the gradual increase in casual touching that has been manifesting itself in your relationship with Sans has been slowly driving you mad. It's wonderful, the gentle way his fingers will graze your arm when you sit together, or how he'll rest his hand at the small of your back when you're both in the kitchen. The way he likes to play with your hair while you're watching movies is _particularly_ distracting.

You wish he'd just kiss you already.

As close as you are to being driven to take the initiative in pushing your relationship to the next level, you know that doing it like _this_ is probably not the best idea. Especially not after the night you had last night. Though you know you've been wanting a more intimate relationship with Sans for some time now, he might not, and you'd hate for him to think you were only instigating out of some misplaced sense of gratitude for the way he saved your life.

Besides, you really _do_ need to go to the bathroom.

You sigh a little and push yourself off of Sans as carefully as your aching body can manage. There's another reason to keep your hands to yourself, you think. Even if everything went perfectly and Sans decided, hell yeah he wants to jump your bones right here and now, you're in way too much pain to have any real fun with the endeavor.

You're almost gasping by the time you're seated upright on the edge of the bed and trying to muster the will to get to your feet. You finally manage, and you think Sans must really be tired if he didn't wake through all that. You shuffle to the bathroom door and cling to the frame for a moment while you catch your breath, glancing back at Sans while you do. From this vantage, you realize abruptly that your friend looks positively _exhausted._

His face is almost always lined, but they seem much deeper by the soft morning light, and you frown a little in concern. Either carrying you back from the woods had tired him more than he'd been willing to admit, or he'd been up the better part of the night. Either way, you felt guilty for your lewd thoughts at his expense and it doesn't take much to put them aside again.

You make use of the bathroom and consider taking a shower for about five seconds until you find yourself forced to grip the counter top just to keep your legs from going out from under you. Annoyed at your own feebleness, you scowl at your reflection in the mirror. Just as you thought it would, the skin of your cheeks is starting to peel unpleasantly and it takes everything in you not to pick at it. A quick glance at your aching hands and feet shows that your fingers and toes are in even worse shape. They're blistering, and you know you're in for an uncomfortable several days as your body sheds the cold damaged skin.

Yeah, definitely for the best you didn't just try to put the moves on Sans. Between the peeling skin, your unwashed hair, and your overall feebleness, you're not exactly at the top of your game right now.

You sigh and drag your hair up into a messy bun and resolve to take a shower later that day if you have to _sit_ in it to get clean. However, even that much feels beyond you, so you retreat for now and open the door.

Sans is waiting for you just outside, his unexpected presence makes you yelp and trip over yourself. Before you can topple to the ground, he reaches out and grabs you by the arm, steadying you.

"Holy crap," you wheeze breathlessly, heart racing as you return his hold on you, knees threatening to give out.

"lean on me," he instructs you, and you're bad off enough that you do so without complaint. Luckily it's only a few steps back to the bed, and your legs keep you long enough to make it before falling gracelessly to the mattress. Again Sans saves you from hitting, though, and gentles your descent with one arm around your shoulders. He eases you back into your pillow and it takes everything you've got not to groan your muscles' protest.

It takes a moment, but you catch your breath and turn your gaze up to Sans' face where he stands over you. His expression is troubled, and without thinking you reach out and gently slip your hand into his. "What's wrong?" you ask with a frown.

Sans seems at a loss for words for a moment. He opens his mouth to speak, only to rethink and close it again, hand tightening convulsively around yours. The skeleton's eyelights, bright as ever, search your eyes, tracing your features, noting your damaged skin and a few scratches you hadn't even realized you'd gotten until you washed your face a moment ago in the bathroom. Probably from the tree during your hasty, panicked climb through its branches to escape the wolves at your heels.

You grimace and turn your face from him, free hand going to shield it in some silly, ineffectual attempt to hide your less than stellar appearance from his intense gaze. It's stupid to feel embarrassed considering what you just went through the night before, but that doesn't stop you. You don't _want_ Sans to see you at your worst. Foolish as it may be, you want him to think you're pretty. You want him to want you...

Hard to do that when your face is scratched to hell and peeling to boot…

Your body is a treacherous thing, and you feel your throat start to close off as tears threaten in your eyes. You sniffle, withdrawing your hand from his in a poor attempt to mask your distress and Sans says your name with a tenderness that makes the tears come in earnest. You feel his hand brush across your hair and you say, "I-I'm alright. Don't listen to me, I'm alright."

"you're not," he growls low in his chest. His arms slip gently under you, careful of your hip and shoulder, and he shifts you closer to the center of the bed before crawling in behind you. Sans spoons your trembling, aching form, curling protectively around you as he pulls your back in against his chest. The skeleton brushes aside some of your hair and murmurs, "you're not and that's ok. i've got you, kid."

Your shoulders heave and you fight for breaths before you turn into a sobbing mess. It's easier with him behind you, holding you tight, as though you're something precious. Something of value to him. Breathing becomes easier, but the tears continue so you keep your face pressed into your palms and he gives you the peace you need to collect yourself. You feel him shift behind you occasionally, cheek brushing lightly along your hair, and you swear his lips ghost over the nape of your neck more than once, though you can't be sure, and you're not quite brave enough to hope.

You must have drifted off, because when you come to once more you're tucked in and you can tell by the quality of the light pouring in through the windows that a few hours have passed. Sans is nowhere to be seen, but there's a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen on the nightstand by your bed, a clear enough message from your friend.

You've barely swallowed the pills and a mouthful of water when your phone rings, making you jump. You fumble for it and see that your mother is calling. You sigh and answer, knowing it's better to face the music now than the entire marching band later.

The conversation that follows isn't quite as panicked as you've been anticipating. Apparently the texts you sent your mom and dad weren't specific as to your impending doom so much as they were generally sentimental. You'd never been the type to send lengthy, emotional texts, though, so your mother had called out of concern that something had happened.

Well, _boy howdy_ had something happened, but in that moment, you decided you aren't going to tell her.

Sans comes in from outdoors with Lucy on his heels halfway through your conversation, picking bits of hay off of his coat before divesting himself of the lot and going into the kitchen to give you some modicum of privacy. Not that there's much of that to be had in a one room cabin, but you appreciate the gesture all the same.

You tell your mother you just wound up deeper in a bottle of wine with a friend than you'd intended, hence the overly emotive text. She buys it, though not easily, and it's almost forty-five minutes before you're finally able to hang up. When you do, you sag tiredly back into your pillow with a sigh.

"your mom?" Sans asks from the kitchen. You can hear something sizzling, and the smell filling the cabin is positively heavenly.

"Yeah," you say, hand going to your stomach as it rumbles. "I sent out some texts… last night," you say, stumbling over your words in reference to your near death experience.

There was quiet from the kitchen, and then, "i know."

You pause, panic lancing through your gut as you remember that your parents hadn't been the only people you'd texted as the hours waxed on while you tried to outwait the wolves. Horrified, you grab up your phone again and flip through your messages. Your parents, Sans, Papyrus, and even Jenny all got messages apparently. You open the one to Sans first and skim it.

It's much along the lines of the one you'd sent to your parents (no confessing your regrets about never kissing, thank god.), saying how much you'd loved being his friend and how much his friendship meant to you, etc etc. It was embarrassingly honest; definitely _not_ something you'd send on a normal day, even if all of it was absolutely true. The second message you'd sent him, however, made your stomach drop alarmingly.

It was a picture of the wolves.

You had taken it after dark with your flash on, which gave the image a supremely eerie quality as the snow bounced back the light and turned the wolves into shadowy silhouettes with glowing green eyes. It makes you a little sick just looking at it.

The sound of Sans' tread drags your attention from your phone to meet his eyes. The skeleton is carrying two plates of pancakes, but your anticipation for food has gone clean out the window in the wake of realizing what you subjected him to.

"Sans, I'm so sorry I sent you that," you say quietly, expression stricken.

The monster's eyelights flick down to where your phone is cradled in your hand and it only takes him a moment to put two-and-two together. He doesn't say anything, only places one of the plates down on the nightstand then uses his freed hand to sweep your phone from your grasp and toss it to the far corner of the bed. You make a small noise of complaint, but he shuts you up by shoving the other plate of pancakes into your hands.

"don't worry about it," he tells you and fetches a chair over so he doesn't have to sit on the bed while he eats. He does, however, kick back and rest his feet on the edge of your mattress before picking up the other plate of pancakes and digging in.

"I didn't… I didn't send that to Pap too, did I?" you ask worriedly as you eye your phone where it lays out of reach. You briefly consider moving to grab it, but that look Sans is giving you tells you that he's in a mood to hide it from you if you don't behave.

"no," he replies, much to your relief. "you gave him more details than you gave your parents though, apparently." You flinch and stare unseeing down at your pancakes. "quit fretting and eat," Sans presses, nudging your foot with his.

"Sorry," you say again and sigh before dutifully picking up your fork and cutting up your pancakes.

Sans watches you do so, and once he sees that you are, in fact, eating, he says, "pap will probably be by in an hour or two." He wrinkles the bridge of his nose a little and adds, "i tried to talk him into coming tomorrow instead, but-" the skeleton shrugs helplessly. "hope that's alright."

You brighten a little at this news and nod. You have a feeling your condition is going to seriously distress the large monster, but the prospect of seeing him still makes you feel a little better. You'll be able to apologize in person for worrying him, too, which will be nice.

The news of Papyrus' visit returns your appetite, and you practically wolf down the pancakes Sans made for you. He quirks a brow at this when you're not looking, but doesn't comment. When you finish, you decide to take a shower now that you've been fortified by extra rest and food. Your legs are less unstable, which you take for a good sign, and you only have to lean on Sans a little when he helps you over to the bathroom.

You do wind up having to sit halfway through your shower, and you feel weak and trembly as a new lamb when you're done, but it's worth it just to feel clean again. You take long enough drying off and getting dressed that Sans knocks on the door just to check on you. You insist that you're alright and try to suppress the little flutter your heart gives at his concern, but fail miserably.

He's waiting for you just outside the door when you're finally done, and you're glad for it this time. You've used up what little energy you'd regained, so he carries you to the sofa when you insist on that rather than the bed yet again. You're getting sick of being there already, and the sofa is more convenient anyways considering Papyrus is coming to visit.

When he finally does, the sun is only just setting and your hair is still damp from the shower. If you'd been any less tired and sore you might have gotten properly dressed, but as it is you're wearing a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, a t-shirt, and your favorite blue hoodie. You must look even worse than you realized, though, because when the skeleton first lays eyes on you he nearly bursts into tears.

"take it easy on her, pap," Sans warns his little brother and carefully relieves him of the large tupperware he is carrying.

The warning seems to distract Papyrus from his distress some as he casts the other monster a reproachful look. "OF COURSE! I AM WELL AWARE OF HOW FRAGILE HUMANS ARE ON THE BEST OF DAYS, LET ALONE AFTER AN ORDEAL LIKE THE ONE OUR FRIEND HAS SUFFERED!" he chides Sans. You grimace a little at being referred to as 'fragile', but you don't dwell on it long as Papyrus seats himself carefully on the sofa beside you. "I'M SO GLAD YOU'RE OKAY, MY LADY!" he says and the genuine relief on his face makes your heart melt a little. "YOU ARE OKAY, RIGHT?" he continues worriedly, brow furrowing as he meets your eyes, towering over you even when seated.

"Pretty good, all things considered," you muse with a smile to put him at ease. "A little blistered and sore from the cold, but I'll be fine," you add, figuring he was bound to notice the state of your fingers at some point, and there was definitely no hiding your face.

"SANS SAID THE WOLVES DIDN'T GET TO YOU," the skeleton says as said brother carries the tupperware he confiscated into the kitchen. You can tell by his inflection, however, that Papyrus is looking for reassurance on this subject as well.

You nod. "They tried their damndest, but no, they didn't get me at all," you say. "The cold did more damage than anything," you add and show him your blistered fingertips.

Papyrus takes your hand in his much larger one and turns it this way and that with his long, delicate fingers that surprise you with their gentleness. He tsks a little, but seems relieved that this is the worst of the damage, same as you.

"IS THERE NOTHING TO BE DONE?" he asks with a small frown, clearly meaning your fingers as he releases your hand.

"No," you say and sigh. "It'll be okay, though. Give it a week and they'll be normal again." Papyrus nods but seems to hesitate, making you tilt your head to one side and ask, "What is it, Pap?"

Papyrus gives a start and blushes a little when you call him out on his distraction. "O-OH," he stammers, blush intensifying the longer you look at him, blinking curiously. "I… COULD I GIVE YOU A HUG?" he asks shyly, and a smile overtakes your features.

"Of course," you say and open your arms wide in invitation. The skeleton brightens visibly and leans in to take advantage of the offer. He has to bend over a great deal to make it work, but he doesn't complain, only wraps his arms lightly around your middle so yours wind up around his neck. He sighs happily and winds up with his face buried in your damp hair as you absently stroke small circles between his shoulder blades. You catch Sans watching the pair of you with a smile on his face from the kitchen while he heats something in a pot on the stove, and you mouth ' _such a sweetheart_ ' at him from where you sit.

The skeleton laughs silently behind a hand and nods his agreement as Papyrus finally releases you and straightens. He turns to see what Sans is up to, and seems pleased with what he finds.

"OH GOOD!" he says, then glances back down at you and says, "MS. BUNNY- ONE OF OUR FRIENDS- SENT SOME SOUP IN HOPES THAT IT WOULD MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER."

You blink in surprise, and then smile at this thoughtful gesture from a stranger. "That was nice of her. Tell her I say thanks, won't you?"

"bunny's a pretty damn good cook," Sans says as he stirs the soup a moment before fetching out some bowls. "if her soup doesn't make you feel better, nothing will," he remarks lightly.

"I _WOULD_ HAVE BROUGHT SOME OF MY SPAGHETTI, BUT EVEN I MUST ADMIT THAT SOUP IS FAR BETTER WHEN ONE IS FEELING ILL," Papyrus says and you chuckle as you nod in agreement.

You wouldn't have thought you were hungry enough to eat again so soon after pancakes, but apparently your stomach feels a need to catch up on the calories you not only burned yesterday, but missed entirely, as your stomach growls the moment Sans places a bowl of soup in your hands a few minutes later. When you start to get up for seconds, Papyrus quickly relieves you of your bowl and refills it for you in spite of your objections.

The three of you spend a pleasant evening talking over dinner, and then watching some of your favorite disney movies just to keep the mood light. The time spent with the monsters does more to make you feel better than all the sleep and soup in the world, and you might be tempted to cry again if you didn't think it would upset Papyrus.

Over the course of the hours spent watching movies, you wind up sprawled on top of Papyrus, and Sans gradually migrates from his side of the couch to wind up squished between you and the back of the sofa.

As the credits for the third movie in a row begin to roll, you reflect on how you somehow always wind up at the middle of a skeleton sandwich whenever the three of you get together for movie night. Not that you're complaining, of course. After the day you had yesterday, you need all the positive physical contact you can get with your friends.

Sans stirs against you with a soft sigh and you feel his hand drift to your hip as he turns to glance up at his brother. He chuckles quietly and murmurs, "pap's gone and nodded off again."

"Well, at least it wasn't from horror movie stress this time," you muse with a smile.

"true," the skeleton agrees and settles back down again. His hand lingers, however, and drifts down to your stomach as he shifts some so he's on his side, one leg hooked over yours. Papyrus' own long legs are hanging off the sofa so your hips are next to his, your head pillowed on his chest.

You turn slightly so you can see Sans' face, but he appears to be watching the credits roll past on the tv. He's tracing absent circles on your stomach with his thumb, and you think you're going to lose your mind if he keeps going the way he is. Maybe you do, at least a little, as you finally break down and say, "Sans?"

He hums question and drops his head back against his brother's chest so his chin is on your shoulder, breath stirring your hair.

It's a little easier to speak now that you can't see his face, so you push on and in a quiet voice, ask, "When are you going to stop teasing me?"

You feel him go still beside you. Even the steady rise and fall of his chest stops, and so does that maddening little thumb stroke. After a moment you feel him start to breath again, and he promises, "soon," in a rough voice, as though he's fighting to speak at all.

You turn your head a little, and the motion brings your cheek to brush against his lips. He doesn't move away, and heart in your throat, you ask, "How soon?"

He's quiet again, and instead of answering immediately, Sans presses a kiss to your cheek. Your heart jumps madly in your chest and you feel your breath catch as he presses a second to your temple. He sighs wistfully into your hair, then lowers his head to press a third and final kiss against your neck, lingering over your pulse as it flutters wildly under his lips. "soon," he mumbles against your skin as he takes a deep, shuddering breath and you struggle to keep a hold on the soft moan that threatens to escape you.

Sans pulls away, then, and carefully extricates himself from you and his brother, leaving you frustrated as ever, if a great deal more hopeful. "wake up, bro, you missed half the movie again," the skeleton teases his brother lightly as he gives his shoulder a gentle shake.

Papyrus gives a start and you push yourself upright so he can sit up himself, blinking blearily in the dark. "I WAS JUST RESTING MY EYES," the skeleton grumbles and you laugh.

A soft huff of laughter escapes Sans and he says, "sure, whatever you say, bro."

"Oh, I believe him," you say. "I mean, I _always_ snore while I rest my eyes."

Papyrus gasps and Sans laughs long and loud as you grin.

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks so much for reading! Make sure to drop a review telling me your favorite part if you enjoyed, and look forward to lots of flirting next week!


	11. How to canonize a skeleton

**AN:** Woo dang almost forgot to post this before bed! Working on some stuff for kinktober... -waggles eyebrows- Anyways, hope you enjoy! Also, I apologize if there's any errors, I didn't do my third edit like I usually do but I figured you guys would be willing to overlook a couple of little things in favor of actually getting the chapter out on time XD I'll come back and do a last edit tomorrow when I'm more awake and capable of critical thinking...

Anyways, enjoy and please make sure to leave a review! Let me know what your favorite part was, I love hearing that!

* * *

 **Winter in your Bones  
** Chapter Eleven: How to canonize a skeleton

Sans stays that night after Papyrus leaves, and the next one as well. In spite of the moment you shared on the sofa (or perhaps _because_ of it), Sans makes no other moves on you for the length of his stay. Frustrated as that makes you feel, you're also grateful for all his help around the cabin while you recover. He takes care of Lucy and Merlin for you, and does the dishes after every meal (something that apparently threatens to make Papyrus' jaw drop straight off his face when you text him as much and include a sneakily snapped photograph as proof). The third night, Papyrus returns for another visit and when he goes away again, he takes Sans with him.

Other than the uncomfortable peeling of the skin on your face, hands, and toes, you're fully recovered and can't really justify asking Sans to stay again when he no doubt wants to sleep in his own bed. Honestly, he probably didn't need to stay the night before, either, but you like to think you weren't the only one who wanted Sans to stick around.

Having the cabin to all to yourself with only Lucy for company feels lonely after having someone else knocking about the place for a few days in a row. Still, you've plenty to catch up on in regards to writing since you got little done while recuperating. Typing had proved painful for the first few days, so you'd finally given up and now you're having to work overtime to catch up. You can't spend _all_ your time working, though, so one evening you dig through some long untouched craft supplies under your bed and fetch out a bag of yarn and some knitting needles you haven't touched for months.

Your mother is a big knitter, and had taught you in turn growing up, though it's something you really only do in fits and bursts. You take up the hobby again now, and after a few rough starts you begin your new project while you watch old movies at night before bed.

Wednesday rolls around and you think you're going to go stir crazy from how much time you've been spending not only indoors working, but _alone._ Funny how quickly one could get used to having someone else around…

Needless to say, you're delighted when Sans shows up bright and early as has become habit. So much so that you actually hug him at the door, taking him by surprise with the overt show of affection.

You're just about to release him out of sheer embarrassment when his arms go around you and he chuckles as he pulls you in close. "miss me, sweetheart?" he asks, voice lightly teasing.

Your lashes flutter against your cheeks at the familiar, _wonderful_ way his laugh reverberates in his chest and carries on into you. Unable to resist the temptation, you press your face into the fabric of his hoodie where it peeks out from the collar of his coat and say, "A bit."

"only a bit?" Sans asks with a soft huff, grip on you tightening fractionally as your breath tickles his vertebrae. "i must really be slipping," he adds and pushes you gently back in through the door and kicks it shut behind him before any more of the warm air escapes.

Lucy barks excitedly at the new arrival, but neither of you pay her any mind as you pull apart just enough to let you get a look at each other. The moment seems to stretch impossibly long between you, and you swear Sans leans in fractionally, eyes half-lidded as he regards you with an almost portentous thoughtfulness. You tilt your head subtly, a silent invitation that makes the skeleton's blue tongue flick out to wet his lips, breath seeming to come only with a great deal of effort.

The moment passes, though, and Sans pulls back further rather than closing the distance, at least until he lifts one hand to brush a few strands of hair back from your face. The pad of his gloved thumb brushes over your cheek, and you know he's looking you over to see how well you've recovered in his absence.

"looking good, kid," he says eventually, and you don't think you're imagining the fact that his voice seems lower than normal when he speaks. "feeling better?"

"Yeah," you say and smile as you fight the urge to lean into his hand as it lingers on your face. No need to look desperate, after all.

Even if you are.

"The worst of it seems done with, except for a bit on my toes," you say and show him your fingers, which are back to normal, if a little tender still.

Sans releases his hold on you and tugs his gloves off before taking your hands in his and examining them closely. His fingers graze lightly over yours, and you watch the way in which the plates of his palm fold so smoothly with every gesture. When he's satisfied, Sans surprises you by kissing the back of your hand and winking slyly at you. Your heart jumps in your chest and you laugh breathily at his antics.

"i'm glad m'lady's hands are as pristine as ever," he says and you snort. "ready to go?" the monster asks and reluctantly looses his hold on you.

"Yeah, just let me grab my things," you say and move to do just that. Once you've collected your purse and donned your usual protective layers, you turn to regard him surreptitiously. Sans is still standing just inside the door, crouched down and petting Lucy absently with one hand while he texts someone with the other.

Deciding to take advantage of his distraction, you collect the scarf that had been hidden under your coat on its hook, and drop it across his shoulders. He blinks in surprise and brushes his fingers over your gift, confused. "what's this?" he asks.

"A scarf," you answer with a cheeky grin, a blush creeping up into your cheeks in spite of your best efforts.

Sans' mouth twists in a wry smile as he pushes himself back to his feet. "yeah, alright captain obvious," he snorts and tugs it off to get a better look at it.

You'd knitted it with a thick, charcoal gray yarn made of alpaca fleece, some of the softest stuff you've ever felt, and apparently it is for Sans too if the way he keeps running his fingers across it is anything to go by. You had originally bought the yarn with the intent of making something for your father for his birthday, but considering that was in the summer, you'd abandoned the project in favor of a more seasonally appropriate gift. You're glad you did now.

You used a thick cable stitch for the pattern and made it long enough to either double up and loop around his neck, or wrap several times, depending on his preference. You take the scarf back from him, fold it in half, then toss it lightly over his head and push the ends through the loop to secure it comfortably around his neck.

"I made it for you," you admit shyly as you adjust it a little and tuck the tails down the front of his jacket to keep out the cold. When you finally glance up at him from under your lashes, his eye sockets are wide with surprise, and his cheeks are dusted a faint shade of blue. "I, um-" you clear your throat and brush your hands across the front of his jacket to neaten it again, then shove them into your pockets before forcing yourself to continue. "It's a thank you for taking care of me," you say, dropping your eyes again.

"you… you didn't have to do that," Sans tells you, but there's an almost awed quality to his voice that draws your gaze back up to his face. He's running his fingers along the soft yarn of his new scarf again, the gesture verging on reverent now.

The fact that he obviously likes your gift eases something in your chest and gives you the nerve to smile brightly at him. "I wanted to. I mean, it's really not enough, considering everything-"

"i love it," he says with a fervency that surprises you and leaves you temporarily speechless. He's looking at you again, his eyelights bigger and brighter than the norm as he buries his nose in the soft knit, successfully hiding his own blush under the guise of getting a feel for the scarf. "thanks, sweetheart," he says, voice only a little muffled by the fabric.

"You're very welcome," you say, smiling broadly.

The trip into town flies by in a blur of eighties rock and a debate on the best film soundtrack of the last decade. It was a losing battle for Sans considering he simply doesn't have your breadth of film knowledge, but together you do come up with a list of movies to acquire and watch.

When you arrive, you go to your favorite pizza place for the sake of introducing Sans to the best pizza in a few thousand miles (if not _anywhere,_ in your opinion). He is skeptical at first, but after taking some suggestions you both place your order. You each wind up getting a locally brewed beer that the restaurant is well known for, and Sans is impressed. He's even more impressed when the food arrives and the pizza successfully lives up to your hype.

Together, you linger over lunch, laughing and chatting about whatever crosses your minds, and it occurs to you that this is a bit of a date scenario, if unofficially. You did just sort of _drag_ him along after all, rather than properly inviting him.

"so," he says after taking a drink of his beer and leaning back in the booth. You look at him in silent question from across the table and he flashes you a little smirk. "world class pizza and beer… you really know how to show a monster a good time, sweetheart."

You flush a little and laugh as you pick absently at a leftover bit of crust. "Told you it was good," you say smugly.

He gives a sort of half bow in recognition of your victory and you grin. The considering look he's giving you from behind half-lidded eyes as he rests his chin on the back of one hand is making you nervous, though, especially considering that little grin of his.

"i wonder," he muses, a finger trailing absently around the rim of his glass. "are there rules about retroactively inviting a girl on a date?" Your blush deepens, and his grin grows. "cuz this was a pretty good one. seems a shame to let it go to waist, y'know?"

"I- uh," you say, stumbling over your words and laughing to cover your nerves at his question. Damn him for being so smooth about it, the bastard. "Well… I don't see why not."

"oh good," he says, voice practically a purr. He cocks his head slightly to one side and lets one eye slip closed as he regards you with the other. "clever you, beating me to the punch."

Your eyes go wide, and you begin to object, then close your mouth with a snap, rethinking your tactics. "Well, didn't have much of a choice did I?" you ask and lean back in your booth. "You've been such a tease, a clever trap was the only way I thought I'd ever wind up on a date with you."

"tease?!" he objects with a startled laugh, sitting up again. "i'm not-" he begins, but you cut him off.

"You are!" you say, delighted by his protest. "If I did to you half of what you've done to me-"

He's in the booth next to you, suddenly, making your objection dissolve into a startled squeak at his appearance. Sans pushes in close, forcing you into the corner with his body, hands going to either side of your shoulders and pinning you there without laying a finger on you. He leans in, eyes bright and sharp as they burn into yours, face inches from your own.

"sweetheart, if you knew the kind of things you'd been doin' to me without even realizing it, you'd write the pope and beg 'im to fuckin' saint me."

His voice is deep and rolling, verging on a growl that sends a primal shiver right up your spine and a rush of heat straight south. Sans isn't angry, you know, but you've never seen this side of him before either. You want to, though. You want more, and you feel lightheaded when he leans in so close his lips brush your cheek as he murmurs, "so don't _you_ talk to _me_ about teasing, darlin'. turnabout's fair play, is all."

"You make me sound downright wicked," you breathe, turning your head to return the favor of murmuring tortuously against his cheek. He moves closer, invading your personal space in a way you have no objection to. In fact, you tilt your chin up and regard him from under your lashes; when your eyes meet the breath all rushes out of him and he forces himself to sit back.

"oh, you are," Sans mutters more to himself than for your benefit, and a slow smile pulls at your lips while you struggle to get your heart rate under control again.

You leave after that and make quick work of your errands. The ride back to your cabin is quieter than the one into town, though not uncomfortably so, and you wonder if you're just imagining the air of anticipation that seems to be hanging over the pair of you. Sans spends a great deal of the drive gazing out the window, fiddling absently with the end of his new scarf, seeming completely unbothered, leading you to think maybe it's just you after all.

It's died down some by the time you arrive home, and things seem to be business as usual while he helps you bring your groceries in and you get dinner started, as has become tradition. You've got a secret weapon a little more tailored to your goals for the evening than beer, however, and when you pull out the ingredients after dinner, Sans gives you a curious look.

"Ever had mulled wine?" you ask with a smile as he wanders over from the living room to watch.

"lemme _mull_ that over a moment," he remarks with a thoughtful expression that makes you snort as you pour the bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon you picked up at the store into a pot along with a healthy dose of apple cider. "mmm, can't say i have, actually," the skeleton remarks as he presses his chest to your back and slips his arms around your waist while you measure out some honey and add that to the pot as well, using your finger to swipe along the inside of the cup to make sure you get as much honey in the mix as possible. Before you can begin to tug yourself from Sans' grip so you can wash your hand free of sticky sweetness, though, he catches your wrist and guides it up, making you turn a little to look at him, confused. Sans gives you a lazy smile and proceeds to take your finger in his mouth and suck it clean, tongue slipping along the digit with a soft, electric tingle you recognize all too well from the times you've shared drinks. A shiver ripples up your back as the breath rushes out of you, and though the inside of the skeleton's mouth is curiously cool compared to a human's, the hum of his magic over your newly recovered skin is better than you ever could have imagined.

"Sans," you breathe and try to turn, but the arm he still has looped around your waist tightens and pins you in place against him. His teeth graze lightly over your knuckle as he pulls your finger from his mouth and releases your wrist.

"keep going," he tells you, nodding towards the pot on the stove, voice rumbling deep in his chest and bringing goosebumps to your skin. "i want to try it."

You want to try _him,_ but you manage not to say as much and turn your attention back to the task at hand, difficult though it may be with his pubic bone pressed into the cleft of your ass. It's unfair, really, but you manage to not only add the necessary spices, but zest an entire orange into the mix before bringing the lot to a boil. While the mulled wine simmers for a few minutes, sticks of cinnamon bobbing on the dark surface as it does, Sans peels a second orange for you. He manages this with his arms still around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder while you stir the pot occasionally, enjoying the heady scent of spiced wine and citrus that now fills the cabin.

Sans sets aside the orange skin for you to add later, then breaks the fruit itself apart into its segments. He offers one to you and you take it, lips grazing his fingertips briefly before he takes a second slice and pops it in his own mouth. Between you, you polish off the orange by the time the alarm goes off, signaling that your concoction is done. The skeleton pulls away so you can shift the pot off the burner without threat of scalding yourself, and moves into the living room while you pour the spiced beverage into two large mugs and add a strip of orange peel to each.

By the time you join Sans on the sofa, he's got a fire going in the grate, and he smiles at you when you press a mug into his hands. "smells good," he tells you before taking a sip. When he does, his eyebrows lift and a pleased little sound escapes him. "tastes good too," he says earnestly and you grin happily at his praise as you settle yourself down on the sofa.

"Right?" you agree. "I really should make it more often, but I don't generally keep oranges around and it's just not the same without them."

Sans nods thoughtfully and sits beside you, though not so close as you might wish. He sits back and rests one ankle on his knee so his femur winds up brushing your leg, but his attention seems all for his mulled wine while he stares absently into the fire.

Quiet reigns for a time, interrupted only by the soft crackle of the fire. Eventually you turn to look at him and ask, "Tell me about the Underground?"

Your question catches him off guard and he almost snorts his drink. "why?" he asks when he's able to speak again, eyelights on your face, expression a mixture of surprise and dismay.

You shrug and smile disarmingly as you lean back against the cushions. "No reason, really," you say. "I'm just curious. You hear stories, of course, but I've never actually heard a monster talk about it. What was it like down there?" You hesitate then, and continue, "I mean, only if you want to. I understand if you don't."

"no, no it's fine," Sans replies, raising a hand to wave off your concern. His eyes go back to the fire once more, and after a minute's thought, he begins to tell you.

He doesn't give you much in the way of specifics about his own life, but that's okay. You're just pleased he's opening up enough to tell you about the Underground at all. Sans starts with descriptions of the various sectors that made up the once small world of monsters; from the Ruins all the way to the Capitol. You're enchanted by the thought of a land caught in eternal winter, though Hotland sounds an utter misery. Waterfall, however, is the place you decide you'd be most interested in visiting, given the opportunity.

Still, you find the concept of Sans living anywhere permanently snow locked surprising, and you tell him as much.

"yeah, you and me both, sweetheart," he admits with a grimace at his own expense and you smile. "pap and i thought we'd manage just fine up here considering where we lived below. thought we were real tough." He sighs and takes a sip of his wine as though to fortify himself before admitting, "turns out snow in snowdin and snow up here on the surface are two totally different phenomenons."

"Seriously?" you ask, intrigued. "Like, snow down there is less cold or something?"

He flashes you a grin. "bingo, got it in one, kid," he says and fires a shot at you with a finger gun that makes you chuckle. "turns out the weather in the underground is largely influenced by magic, which is why none of us were deep fried in hotland. Turns out it never got much colder that fifty degrees in snowdin."

"Fifty degrees?!" you exclaim and he nods with a sigh, mouth twisting wryly. "Lord, no wonder you broke into my cabin," you muse and he rolls his eyes.

"never gonna live that down, am I?" he asks.

You grin. "Nope!" He looks ready to challenge you on the subject but you intercept and poke him lightly in the sternum with a knuckle and say, "You _broke into my house,_ Sans! And then you cuddled with a stranger! You will literally _never_ live it down so you might as well get used to it."

He sags back against the cushions besides you with a sigh, but smiles. "alright, alright. fair enough, I guess," he says, but before you can get smug, he adds, "but if you start telling strangers, _i_ will bring up the fact that you were completely willing to cuddle a strange skeleton that just showed up in your bed, no questions asked."

You let out a mock gasp of horror and he grins. "You dirty cheat."

"says you," he muses, voice teasing as he takes another drink of his mulled wine.

You're both halfway through your second mug when Sans begins to deviate from his practical description of the Underground and relates a story from years before that has you both doubled over in laughter.

"and there's- and there's papyrus up on the waterfall in that fuckin' speedo of his," the skeleton wheezes helplessly, brushing tears of mirth from his eye socket. "arms spread, looking like he's trying out for the goddamn olympic diving team..."

"No!" you gasp, knowing you're probably quite wicked for laughing so hard, but completely unable to help yourself.

"an' he just... just dives on into the lagoon," Sans continues when he manages to catch his breath a little. "problem is, he doesn't come back up right away, so i'm worried, of course. figured he _had_ to have brained himself on the bottom or something, but he pops back up a moment later, only he- only he-" the skeleton struggles to speak around the laughter that's coming hard and fast now. "he sinks right back down again because he can't _fuckin' float!_ "

You clap your free hand over your mouth and nearly spill your mug of wine as you laugh. "Oh god, cuz you guys are all bone!" you realize aloud, brushing away tears of mirth at the mental image provided.

He nods and a snort actually escapes him as he continues. "so he like... just _keeps bouncing_ to get to the shore again, cuz he's too heavy to float, but too light to just walk it, so his head just keeps poppin' up like a goddamn whack-a-mole!"

"Oh the poor dear," you gasp, fanning your burning face as you laugh. "He didn't do that the whole way to shore, did he?"

Sans takes a moment until he can speak again, but when he can he says, "nah, undyne went in after him and dragged him out after about the fourth time when she could stop laughing long enough to get in the water."

"Thank god for that," you say.

"god bless fish women everywhere," Sans says and lifts his cup in toast and you mirror his gesture before you both take a drink. When the monster lowers his own mug, he gives you a considering sort of look that makes you quirk a brow at him.

He leans in, then, and for a heart stopping moment you think he's about to kiss you, but before you can react, he leans to one side and gently sets his empty cup on the coffee table. Your heart drops a little at the misunderstanding, but jumps right back into motion again when Sans straightens and says your name, a lilt of a question to those familiar syllables.

You hum in answer, not quite trusting your voice with the way he's looking at you with those heavy-lidded eyes of his. His knee brushes yours as he turns, closer than ever now, and drapes one arm across the back of the sofa so his fingers brush your shoulder distractingly. You sip your drink compulsively, and the small quirk of a smile that tugs at his lips threatens to make your heart literally skip a beat, though not so badly as the next words out of his mouth.

"can I kiss you?"

You barely manage to swallow your wine without choking and you wonder if you heard him right, but you don't quite dare ask him to repeat himself.

You nod dumbly, wishing to god you had something sexy, or at least _clever_ to say in response to his question, but you're coming up blank, and anyways more talking means less kissing and you're _very_ not okay with that.

Sans' smile borders on the relieved when it flits across his features before disappearing again in anticipation of what he's finally about to do. It makes you feel a little less like you're about to have a heart attack when you realize he's nervous as well, but then he's leaning in and catching your lips with his, and every other thought goes right out the window.

It's been a long time since you last kissed someone, and for half a stupid, terrified second you're afraid you've forgotten how, but then Sans' lips are moving against yours, gentle and coaxing, and it's just like riding a bike. Better, really, because the last guy you kissed definitely wasn't as good as Sans is proving to be, and it's a good thing he reaches between the two of you and takes your mug because you're pretty sure you would have forgotten it and spilled wine all over yourself and your sofa had he gone on much longer.

He has to break contact to set your cup on the coffee table, leaving you dazed and a little breathless, but you're ready for round two when he comes back, no longer dazed but on your game and hungry for more. Sans slips his hand along your cheek to twine in your hair and yours grab his shirt and haul him in closer so he's half on top of you. The feel of his lips against yours is sheer bliss, a little firmer than a human's, but plenty skilled to make up for the fact and you nibble on his bottom one experimentally. He groans a little at the sensation and when you release him again, his tongue brushes across your lips, making them buzz pleasantly in a more powerful echo of the way they had when you'd shared a beer all those weeks ago.

Eager for more, you part your teeth and he slips inside, making you exhale sharply as you swear to god you can feel that tingle shooting straight up through the roof of your mouth and into your brain where it spreads like so much static across the surface of your mind, a pleasant hum that threatens to render you senseless. It's a bit like licking a battery, you decide as his tongue coils and twines with yours, and that sweet, electric buzz is proving to be completely intoxicating.

You're both finally forced to come up for air and you say, "Holy shit," as he chuckles and trails kisses along the line of your jaw and then down to the crook of your neck.

"holy shit," he agrees breathlessly and you slip your hands up to his shoulders and allow your fingernails to graze lightly over the vertebrae at the base of his skull in a way you've been dreaming of doing for ages now. Sans' reaction is everything you could have hoped for as he gasps and shudders against your skin at the sensation, then pushes you down against the sofa cushions with the weight of his body as he shifts so he can wrap an arm around your waist and pull you in tight against him. You repeat the gesture, but continue it up and over the ridge at the base of his skull before sweeping your fingers all the way down the length of his spine to his hips. The way he arches his back in response makes you smile like the cat that got the cream, and your stomach tightens in anticipation at the almost desperate look Sans gives you when he pulls back to look at you.

"damn, sweetheart," he breathes unsteadily. "you're not supposed to know- " his words cut off abruptly with another helpless gasp when you lean up and run your tongue over the exposed edge of his clavicle where it's peeking out from the neck of his shirt. He swears quietly when you pull him in closer, forcing him down onto his elbows over you as you latch onto the bone and gently suck on it before grazing it with your teeth. When you finally relent and drop back into the cushions again, his face is flushed blue and his eyelights are the biggest you've ever seen them.

"To know what?" you ask and rub your hands lightly down his ribs to settle on the curve of his hips, taking pity on him for the moment and skipping over his spine without touching it.

He blinks, and it seems to you the lights of his eyes come back into focus as he looks at you and laughs weakly. "to know my every fucking weakness," Sans says, voice rough as he shifts to lay on his side beside you so you're nose to nose, legs intertwined.

"Says the guy with the electric tongue," you muse lightly with a snort, pretending not to notice the way his hand lingers on the swell of your hip now, or how he's slipping his arm under your head so he can pull you in closer to him. He pauses at your words, however, and gives you an amused, if puzzled, look.

"what?"

Your eyes go wide and you realize that he doesn't know the affect his physical magic has on you, or any other human most likely if his reaction is anything to go by. "Kissing you's a bit like licking a battery," you explain after a moment, deciding your earlier analogy is an apt enough comparison. He continues to look confused, though, and you realize he must have never actually tried that as a kid. Or maybe he had and it just didn't do anything... "It uh- it tingles," you continue, a little embarrassed at your lame description. "Just a sort of soft buzzing, like static if static was a feeling instead of a sound."

Sans blinks and looks thoughtful. "huh," he says, clearly intrigued if the shift of his brows is anything to go by. "lets run a series of tests, shall we?" the skeleton suggests with a slow smile that makes your pulse jump in anticipation, and you nod. "well, for a basis of comparison we should kiss again, i think," he continues, and you nod again, more than willing to assist.

You tilt your head back and his lips meet yours once more, demanding this time as he shifts so he's laying half on top of you now, forearm still under your neck granting him full control as you submit to his ministrations happily. He slips his tongue into your mouth once more and you sigh and shift, granting him access to the deepest parts of you, which he explores readily. That increasingly familiar electric tingle is back in full force and steals your breath away as he pushes deeper until your lips ache pleasantly with the pressure. You arch your back, bringing your chest into contact with his and he grips your hip with his free hand, making you rock enticingly against him in a way that sends a shiver running up his back.

Sans breaks contact, both of you dazed with the intensity of the kiss, and breathless, he asks, "well?"

"Definitely still tingly," you answer after a moment, struggling to put a coherent line of thought together in the wake of the kiss.

"good to know," he murmurs and drops a second kiss on your lips. You open your mouth again in silent invitation, but this time he simply sweeps his tongue over the flushed surface of your lips, making you hum and press them together when he's done, your eyes fluttering shut at the soft vibration his saliva kindles in your skin. "i'll take that as a sign of the same," Sans remarks with a huff of amusement and you just nod, helpless against the onslaught of pleasure.

The monster lifts his hand from your hip and uses it to turn your head to the side, granting him access to the column of your throat. He presses his lips to the rapid flutter of your pulse, then brushes his tongue over that as well. A little incoherent noise escapes you and your hands slip up his arms to grip his shoulders once more, fingertips grazing over the edge of his scapula. He doesn't bother to ask you how it felt, only continues south, stopping every inch or so to repeat the experiment and drawing much the same reaction from you each time as he slowly drives you mad.

"Sans," you gasp when his teeth graze the exposed skin of your shoulder. You gasp and cry out when he bites down on the muscle there; not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to hurt. It feels _good,_ though, and the sensation is only enhanced when he immediately runs his tongue over the skin that no doubt now bears an imprint of his teeth. Unable to take more of his teasing, for science or not, you haul him back up to your mouth and kiss him fiercely, your tongue finding its way into his mouth this time and bullying his downright fiendish one into submission as you use every little trick you've learned about his body so far against the skeleton.

Your fingers graze over his ribs and rake down his spine, making him gasp and sag against you, allowing you to roll you both over so you're on top now, one knee between his legs, your hips grinding mercilessly against his and the growing tension you feel developing in his pants. You don't let up, but drag down the collar of his shirt and attack his collarbone while his hands work their desperate way down to your hips to give him the leverage needed to roll his hips against you, jeans chafing mercilessly but neither of you quite daring to cross that line yet.

Sans outright moans when you run your tongue up the side of his cervical vertebrae and you smile triumphantly at his reaction. He turns his head to the side, allowing you better access, and you repeat the motion, then drop a kiss on each vertebra up to his chin whereupon he turns and catches your mouth with his once more.

The kiss is languid and coaxing now, and you're not insensible to the fact that he's fighting desperately not to cross a line tonight, no matter how much he, and _you,_ want to in that moment. It's a struggle, but you eventually surrender to his silent pleas until you're both sprawled across your sofa in a tangle of limbs, breathless but pleased, if not quite satisfied.

Your head is tucked under his chin, and as you both lay there wrapped around one another, his fingers tracing absent circles across your lower back, you swear you can hear the soft, otherworldly hum of his soul deep within his bones.

"orange juice," he says out of the blue after a minute of silence.

"What?" you ask, baffled and wondering if you hadn't misheard him. You lift your head from his chest and shoot him a quizzical look.

"for the mulled wine. you could substitute orange juice for the zest and peel if you didn't have an orange," Sans explains thoughtfully, eyes on the ceiling as he speaks, though he looks down at you when he's done, clearly waiting for your opinion.

You blink. "Oh," you say, then fight back a laugh. "Thought you were having stroke or something."

He rolls his eyes but grins as he wraps his arms around you once more and says, "yes, well, you know just how to _stroke_ me, don't you sweetheart?"

You groan and drop your head onto his chest while he laughs and presses a kiss to the crown of your head. "Please, you're awful," you mutter unconvincingly into his shirt.

"awfully good at pleasing you, it seems," he retorts lightly.

"Turnabout's fair play," you shoot back as you lift your face to look at him again, using his earlier words against him.

Sans grins, then pulls you in, unresisting, for another kiss. It's slow and sweet, the type that makes you curl your toes and want to purr, and you close your eyes without even realizing it. You sigh against his lips when he breaks again and you can feel him smile.

"hey," he says to get your attention, and your eyes flutter open to meet his gaze. You're still nose-to-nose with him, so you pull back a bit to look at him without going cross-eyed. He's trying hard to look casual, but with your body pressed so firmly against his, you can feel the way he's tensing up in preparation for asking something awkward. You lift a brow at him, and an amused breath rushes out of him. "do you… i mean, _would you_ like to-" he grimaces and looks pained at his own stumbling efforts to speak. "god, there is no _non_ idiotic way to ask this fucking question," he grouses to himself, a surge of blue coloring his cheekbones.

"I find actually asking the question helps," you muse and he shoots you a flat look that only makes you grin cheekily.

Sans heaves another sigh and gives up. "you wanna be my girlfriend?"

Your eyes widen briefly, not quite surprised (because honestly what other stupid sounding question does a boy ask a girl after making out on her sofa that doesn't involve sex somehow?), but still delighted he actually asked. A blush creeps across your cheeks but you're smiling as you nod a little shyly. It's a ridiculous sensation considering you're long out of high school, but that doesn't stop you from feeling a bit like a schoolgirl when Sans gives you a relieved smile in turn.

You lean in and kiss him again, and this time he's the one that sighs against your lips as you smile and press a second kiss to the corner of his mouth. "It does sound a bit juvenile, doesn't it?" you admit when you pull away, amused.

He nods and absently brushes some hair back from your face with one hand. Something humorous seems to occur to him though, as he fights down a laugh and says, "pap would call you my 'datemate'"

"Your what?" you ask with an incredulous laugh of your own.

"'datemate'," he repeats. "He has this… dating manual," Sans explains with a vague wave of his hand.

"Oh lord," you muse. "Though, I mean, it _does_ kinda have a ring to it, don't you think?"

"i know we've only been together for about two minutes, but i _will_ break up with you."

You throw your head back and laugh.

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks for reading! We finally got a real date, a kiss, AND a relationship all in one go! Takes me awhile to get there, but boy did we! XD Remember to leave a review if you enjoyed, and let me know what your favorite part was!


	12. Blessings, Hope, and Moose

**AN:** Second to last chapter! This one is mostly Reader and Papyrus, but I think you'll enjoy it all the same ;D Remember to drop a review if you do, and let me know your favorite part! Seriously never gets old, I love hearing what people liked most!

* * *

 **Winter in your Bones  
** Chapter Twelve: Blessings, Hope, and Moose

Sans comes over twice in the next week, and a great deal of time is spent on your sofa wrapped around one another while a movie plays unnoticed in the background. You find more of your new boyfriend's 'weak spots', and in turn he discovers a few of your own just to level the playing field. Together you're toeing a line that you're dangerously close to toppling right over, both aching to take things to the next level, but not quite daring.

One night, when he lingers in your company after a trip into town, you manage to get him out of his shirt and spend a delightful evening mapping the curve of every rib until you're convinced Sans is about to push you right off of him so he can have his way with you. Unfortunately, he manages to restrain himself (barely), though his hands do find their way up under your top to trace over the silk skin of your rib cage, back, and belly. Your breasts he leaves painfully untouched, and you're convinced he does so just to get back at you for the sweet, gasping torture you inflict on him as you explore his chest with the wet heat of your mouth and tongue.

The next time Sans visits, Papyrus comes along as well, and you greet them both with a delighted smile at the door. You immediately move in to kiss your boyfriend hello, but pause, suddenly unsure of whether or not he has actually told his brother about your change in relationship. Your hesitation doesn't go unnoticed, and insightful monster that he is, Sans quickly puts two-and-two together.

He steps inside and takes your hand, then pulls you in close before claiming your lips with his own. You relax almost immediately and smile against him as you return the gesture, arms going up around his neck while his own slip around your waist. Sans is cool to the touch from his walk, but less so than normal, most likely thanks to the fact that he has your scarf to shield at least the lower half of his face from the chill air.

When you break apart, he smiles at you in the warm way he has that makes your heart jump straight up in your throat, and says, "missed you too, sweetheart."

You laugh and flush a little, then plant a second kiss on his cheek before your eyes are drawn to Papyrus who has just entered behind his brother. Judging by the lack of surprise on his face, Sans did indeed tell him he asked you out. You are, however, a little taken off guard by how positively _delighted_ the giant skeleton appears.

"Hey, Pap," you say with an almost nervous grin, and his smile widens as he steps forward to greet you.

"HELLO, MY LADY! IT IS A DELIGHT TO SEE YOU AGAIN, AS ALWAYS!" he proclaims, then sweeps you up in a tighter-than-usual hug that threatens to make you squeak with the strength of it.

You're a little winded when he lets you go, but still smiling. "You too! Hurry and close the door, though, or we might as well go outside," you tease and tug on his sleeve a little to pull him further inside.

He doesn't budge, though, making you look up at him in question. "ACTUALLY, I WAS WONDERING IF I COULD ASK A FAVOR OF YOU."

"A favor?" you repeat curiously and glance sidelong at Sans. Judging by the puzzled expression he's shooting his brother as he shrugs out of his jacket, though, he has no idea what Papyrus has up his sleeve either.

"IF IT'S NOT TOO MUCH TROUBLE-" Papyrus begins, then hesitates a moment.

"Go on, Pap," you say with an encouraging smile.

The gesture seems to give him strength, and he continues. "WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO TAKE ME RIDING ON MERLIN?"

Whatever you were expecting him to ask, _that_ certainly isn't it. "Right now?" you ask, blinking.

"ONLY IF YOU'RE QUITE WILLING," he says quickly.

Sans laughs a little. "bro, there's no way we're all gonna fit on that damn horse," he says, rolling his eyes.

Papyrus turns to look at his brother, one brow lifted as he remarks, "WHICH IS WHY YOU'RE NOT INVITED, SANS."

You might have laughed at the exchange if Sans didn't seem so genuinely surprised. The frown that quickly takes over his face is equally unexpected. "there's no way you're going out, just the two of you." Your own smile drops away and you start to feel offended. Does he genuinely not trust you alone with his brother or something? Before you can even open your mouth to confront him, though, Sans continues, "there's _wolves_ out there, pap. what if-"

Papyrus' expression softens a little, though he seems unmoved. "SANS, YOU KNOW I'D NEVER LET ANYTHING HAPPEN TO HER."

Sans' eye sockets widen fractionally, and you see the lights therein flick briefly to you. The realization that he's only worried for you and his brother's (mostly yours, you suspect, human as you are) safety immediately quells your irritation. Mustering a smile in spite of the ache in your heart brought on by his concern and obvious lingering guilt, you take his hand in yours and squeeze it lightly. "We'll be fine. I promise not to wind up in a tree again."

Sans grits his teeth and you know he's struggling internally to loosen his grip on the situation. He wants so badly to protect you, but you know as well as he does that the inclination is one that could rapidly spin out of control if entertained too often.

Finally, he forces himself to take a breath and nods. "right. yeah. i'll just uh... how about i make dinner tonight?"

"Oh, you don't have to do that," you begin. "I can-"

Your fingers still twined with his, he briefly tightens his grip and looks at you as he asks, "please?"

You can tell he needs something active to occupy himself with while you're gone, so you relent and don't make him ask twice. "Alright," you say, then lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, making him sigh and shift closer to you. Sans' arm slips around your waist and pulls you in flush against him as he catches your lips with his. There's a desperation lingering behind the kiss that steals your breath away, and though he doesn't seek entrance to your mouth, he does linger, seeming to seek reassurance in the gesture.

When you break it off again, Papyrus is politely looking anywhere but at the pair of you, and you almost laugh. Only your concern for Sans allows you to reign in the impulse. "We'll be back before you know it," you tell him gently. "We won't go far."

The skeleton's gaze meets yours, and seems to search it for something before he finally nods and reluctantly releases you. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, then manages a smile and says, "have fun."

You grab up your coat and other winter things and chuckle as you look up at the increasingly excited Papyrus. "I rather think we will," you muse, and a minute later, you're stepping out into the chill afternoon air and making your way over to the barn.

"HONESTLY, IT'S LIKE HE THINKS WE'RE GOING TO TIMBUKTU OR SOMETHING," Papyrus grumbles a little as he falls in step with you. "I-" he begins, then cuts himself short and sighs a little. "NO, I SHOULDN'T BE UNKIND," he says mostly to himself. "HE WAS EXTREMELY DISTRAUGHT AT WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU," he admits as he glances down in your direction.

You nod, then in hopes of keeping the mood light, you say, "Hey, me too, buddy."

Papyrus smiles, and you chuckle as you both arrive at Merlin's paddock, and this time you actually open the gate before going to find your horse in his stall. The creature is munching absently on a mouthful of hay when you see him, and his head immediately lifts as you enter. His ears flick back and his nostrils widen when he also sees Papyrus, but that's all the reaction he gets, so you count it as a win.

The skeleton practically falls over himself to help you saddle your horse, and you're more than happy to let him do the heavy lifting, though you do place a steadying hand on Merlin to keep the animal from getting jumpy at being handled by a strange monster.

You're doing up the various straps and buckles when you finally work up the nerve to ask, "Hey, Pap... does Sans... does he blame himself for what happened?" You're bent at the waist when you ask it, but you meet the skeleton's eyes over the saddle when you straighten, and the thoughtful expression on his face makes your stomach drop out from under you. "I mean, I just kinda get that feeling," you add quickly, not wanting to sound self-centered. "And I don't want him to, because _obviously_ it's not his fault. It was just awful luck, and he saved my _life_ for goodness sake..."

You realize you're rambling a bit and you shut your mouth. You're blushing now, and you bend to check the stirrups again to cover it when Papyrus says, "I THINK HE DOES." You sigh unhappily, and he continues, "HE'S ALWAYS BEEN THE TYPE TO WORRY, HOWEVER, EVEN THOUGH HE LIKES TO PRETEND HE WORRIES ABOUT NOTHING AT ALL."

You meet your friend's eyes again, and Papyrus is wearing a rueful expression as he strokes Merlin's neck with one gloved hand. You find yourself mirroring the look as you say, "He does rather, doesn't he?"

Papyrus nods. "HE THINKS THAT I DON'T NOTICE, AND I LET HIM BELIEVE THAT BECAUSE I KNOW IT MAKES HIM FEEL BETTER," he adds with a soft huff. "HE'LL COME TO TERMS WITH WHAT HAPPENED EVENTUALLY. WE'LL SIMPLY HAVE TO BE PATIENT IN THE MEANTIME. SANS HAS ALWAYS BEEN PROTECTIVE, IT'S IN HIS NATURE." The skeleton finally seems to register the sweet, almost melancholy smile on your face and his brow furrows in concern as he asks, "WHAT IS IT?"

"You're a great brother, Papyrus," you tell him, thinking of how much they must have gone through together for them to have such a relationship. You only know a small fraction of the story so far, but you hope they'll both continue to open up over time.

The skeleton flushes at your compliment and seems a little flustered. "W-WELL OF COURSE!" he exclaims to cover his discomfiture. "THE 'GREAT' PAPYRUS COULD NEVER BE ANYTHING LESS THAN A GREAT BROTHER!"

You chuckle. "Of course," you agree. "Just thought I'd acknowledge the fact aloud."

"YES, WELL... THANK YOU," he says and clears his throat as you smile and finish up the last of your check on the saddle straps.

You lead Merlin out of the stable and Papyrus follows after, practically vibrating in place with anticipation. The horse is stepping high, clearly ready to be out for some exercise after another snowfall had forced you to forgo a ride the day before. You bring him to a stop just outside the gate of his paddock and swing easily up into the saddle. Papyrus is giving you an admiring look when you turn your attention back to him, and you flush a little and laugh.

"Alright, so I'm guessing you've never ridden before?"

He shakes his head. "NO, BUT I HAVE DONE A GREAT DEAL OF RESEARCH!" he proclaims proudly. "I KNOW YOU SHOULD NEVER WALK DIRECTLY BEHIND A HORSE WITHOUT LETTING IT KNOW YOU'RE THERE, AND THAT THEY LIKE IT WHEN YOU TALK TO THEM SINCE THEY DO NOT SEE BEHIND THEM VERY WELL."

"Very good," you say proudly, and he practically beams at your compliment. You give him a quick up and down as you consider your options, then say, "We'll have you sit side-saddle behind me, it'll be a little easier on Merlin if we're not having to worry about those long legs of yours interfering with his."

Papyrus nods eagerly, apparently willing to do whatever so long as it means he gets to ride.

"Go ahead and use the fence so you don't have to jump up," you direct, and shift forward a little in the saddle to make room for your friend as he proceeds to do just that.

He manages the maneuver without mishap, which is better than you can say for his brother's first time. You grin a little at the memory while Papyrus gets settled, and when he has, you guide one of his arms around your waist, while his other grips the edge of the saddle. Merlin shifts a little under you, but big as he is, Papyrus still weighs less than you do, so the burden is well within your mount's capabilities.

"Alright?" you ask him, grinning back over your shoulder at your friend, who looks positively ecstatic.

"YES!" he says, arm tightening a little around you, making you laugh as you gently urge Merlin into a walk. The skeleton muffles a delighted little noise and you have to fight not to laugh again as Papyrus' excitement begins to infect you as well.

You clear the cabin and guide Merlin down the gentle slope towards the lake. When you reach more even ground, you tell Papyrus, "Okay, hold on!" You feel him tighten his grip on you again and you kick your horse into a trot, though with the snow as high as it is you don't dare a canter. A laugh escapes the skeleton, and you grin back at him.

When you reach the lake, you rein Merlin back into a brisk walk, concerned as ever about treacherous patches of ice that might linger beneath the snow.

"I DON'T CARE WHAT SANS SAYS, I AM GETTING A HORSE," Papyrus proclaims and you laugh again, knowing your boyfriend is going to be less than impressed with your hand in this.

"Well, maybe between the two of us we can bring him around, huh?" you suggest, and he grins down at you gratefully.

"YOUR ASSISTANCE WOULD BE MUCH APPRECIATED. I HAVE MADE _NO_ HEADWAY WITH HIM," Papyrus admits with a derisive snort.

A companionable silence falls over the two of you then until the only sound is the rhythmic huff of Merlin's breath and the occasional burst of birdsong from those rare, hardy breeds that remain around your home come winter time. Mostly it's ravens; their eerie, peculiar calls echoing through the forest and across the frozen surface of the lake.

"I WANTED TO CONGRATULATE YOU ON BECOMING MY BROTHER'S DATEMATE," Papyrus says out of the blue, making you blink, and then fight back a snicker when the younger skeleton does, indeed, make use of the peculiar term.

"Thanks, Pap. I'm a lucky girl," you say instead and he gives a thoughtful sort of hum that tells you more is coming.

He takes longer to speak than you expected, but eventually he continues, "I WANTED TO THANK YOU AS WELL. YOU'VE BEEN VERY GOOD TO HIM, AND _FOR_ HIM."

You look back over your shoulder, eyes wide with surprise, to see him regarding you thoughtfully. "O-oh?" you manage to stammer out after a moment.

Papyrus nods, expression not quite sorrowful, but uncomfortably close when he says, "HUMANS HAVE NOT ALWAYS BEEN KIND TO US SINCE OUR RETURN TO THE SURFACE. I THINK..." the skeleton pauses, then shakes his head. "NO, I _KNOW_ THAT HE HAD BEGUN TO GIVE UP HOPE BEFORE HE MET YOU."

"Hope for what?" you ask, fascinated if a little embarrassed by this sudden and unexpected insight to your boyfriend's psyche. "The human race?"

"ON LIFE IN GENERAL, I SUSPECT," Papyrus says, and your eyes widen further as your stomach tightens in horror at the thought. You try to open your mouth to deny possibly having had such an impact on Sans' life, but your friend continues before you can do so. "LIFE IN THE UNDERGROUND WAS NOT EASY, BUT WE ALL WERE GIVEN NEW HOPE WHEN FRISK BROKE THE BARRIER AND WE WERE ABLE TO FINALLY COME TO THE SURFACE. IT WAS LIKE A DREAM," he muses softly and gazes into the middle distance, thoughts a thousand miles away from here and now. "BUT THEN WE GOT HERE, AND HUMANS, WELL-"

His expression shifts uneasily as he is recalled to the present, and you complete the sentence for him, "Are kind of awful?" Your expression sours, though not at Papyrus. Rather, at your own people, many of whom had reacted badly at the sudden return of monsterkind to the surface world. Things had calmed since then (the worst of the riots had finally died off at least), but there was still plenty of anti-monster sentiment to be found out in the world.

"I WASN'T-" Papyrus begins uncomfortably, but you just snort.

"It's true," you say. "Don't worry, you won't hurt my feelings by admitting it. Lots of people reacted in the worst, most intolerable way possible. Anyone that tries to say otherwise isn't a friend of yours."

You look back over your shoulder, and you're a little surprised to find him smiling softly at you. "I'M GLAD YOU'RE MY FRIEND, MY LADY," he says, taking you off guard and making you flush a little.

It takes you a moment to recover yourself enough to speak, but when you do, you say, "Well, I mean, you're _the_ great Papyrus, how could I possibly not want to be your friend?"

"PLENTY OF PEOPLE DON'T," the skeleton answers with a straightforward honesty that hits you like a punch to the gut.

"Oh, honey," you begin, not even sure what to say to such an admission.

"IT'S OKAY," Papyrus says and shifts a little closer so he can rest his cheek on the top of your head. "THE ONES I DO HAVE ARE _PARTICULARLY_ EXCELLENT."

You're horrified to realize that tears are threatening at the corners of your eyes and you wipe surreptitiously at them with your glove and say, "Well, you deserve all the very best, Pap."

His grip on you tightens briefly, and you can feel his breath catch in his chest as he leans against you for a moment longer and you bite down on your lower lip, glad that you can at least use the cold as an excuse for why your nose is suddenly runny.

"THANK YOU," he continues eventually. "NOT JUST FOR ME, BUT SANS AS WELL. I KNOW YOU SHOWED HIM THAT NOT ALL HUMANS DISLIKE US, OR WANT TO USE US FOR OUR MAGIC." You barely manage to nod, and he presses on, "THANK YOU FOR FORCING HIM TO BUY PROPER CLOTHES AS WELL. I DON'T KNOW _HOW_ YOU MANAGED IT, BUT, THANK YOU. "

"He is stubborn, isn't he?" you muse, taking hold of this line of conversation like a lifeline.

"ASGORE'S PANTS, YOU HAVE _NO IDEA._ "

You grimace a little. "Maybe not, but I'm getting there, I think," you say with a soft huff.

You're both quiet for a minute, taking in the cold, pristine beauty of your surroundings, each occupied by your thoughts until Papyrus speaks again.

"DOES HE MAKE YOU HAPPY?"

You jump a little at the question, heart fluttering in your chest. "He does," you admit shyly with an earnest, happy smile he can't see, but he can hear plain as day in the cadence of your voice.

Papyrus nods, pleased with your answer. "YOU MAKE HIM HAPPY TOO."

Your pulse threatens to send your heart right up into your throat at the skeleton's admission. You like to think Sans is happy with you, of course. He certainly seems to enjoy your company; but it's different hearing it from a third party that knows your boyfriend even better than you do. "R-really?" you stammer, trying and failing to disguise how happy this news makes you.

Your friend sees straight through you, and chuckles a little. "REALLY. I HAD MY SUSPICIONS BEFORE MEETING YOU, BUT IT WAS THE FIRST TIME WE CAME OVER FOR DINNER THAT I REALIZED HOW MUCH HE REALLY CARED FOR YOU."

You feel your cheeks heat some, and you're completely incapable of resisting the temptation to ask, "What gave it away?"

Papyrus, mercifully, takes pity on you and answers readily. "IT WAS THE WAY HE LAUGHED. I HADN'T HEARD SANS LAUGH LIKE THAT IN AGES, BUT THERE HE WAS DOING IT LIKE IT WAS THE MOST NATURAL THING IN THE WORLD." He pauses for a moment, then continues, "PLUS HE WAS ALL OVER YOU IN THE KITCHEN."

A little gasp of horror escapes you. "You saw that?!"

Papyrus shoots you a wry look that makes your cheeks heat further. "MY LADY, I AM POLITE, NOT _BLIND._ "

"R-right," you eek out, embarrassed. "Sorry."

His huff of amusement turns your embarrassment into a smile that just won't leave your face as Merlin marches on through the snow around the shore of the lake. Your thoughts are running rampant with the valuable insight Papyrus has given you into his brother, and you're more than a little pleased to think that you and Sans have been given his blessing. You hadn't realized just how much you'd wanted Papyrus to approve of you and Sans until suddenly he did; it was as though a weight had been lifted from your soul.

Movement in your periphery draws your attention to the treeline, immediately on high alert for any potential threat to you and your friend.

Through the trees you spot a moose ambling idly along, parallel to your own path. It's a big bull, but it appears to have no interest in you, though you keep a wary eye on it, knowing from experience just how unpredictable the creatures could be.

Papyrus immediately notices your shift in attention, and his gaze follows yours. He doesn't seem worried; quite the contrary, in fact, as after a moment's silent contemplation of the animal, the skeleton remarks, "PERHAPS I AM GOING ABOUT THIS ALL WRONG."

You tilt your head back to look at him. "Sorry?" you say, not catching his drift.

He glances down at you and his smile widens. "MAYBE I DON'T NEED TO CONVINCE SANS ABOUT A HORSE. A MOOSE HAS MUCH LONGER LEGS, AFTER ALL, AND THEY'RE USED TO DEALING WITH SNOW. DO YOU THINK ONE COULD BE TRAINED TO ACCEPT A RIDER?" he asks, seeming completely genuine in his curiosity.

You stare at him for a moment, and then laugh. "Well," you say when you get yourself under control again, gaze drifting speculatively back to the distant moose who, after regarding your party with an absent sort of curiosity for a moment, has begun to amble away deeper into the forest. "I'm not sure how easy it'd be, or how legal, but I _have_ heard of it being done." A speculative look crosses your face as you tug absently at one of the draw strings on your hat. "I read an article about a guy who taught one to pull a plough a while back, actually."

"REALLY?" Papyrus asks, fascinated by this news as he rubs his chin with one gloved hand. "FASCINATING. THIS, I BELIEVE, WILL REQUIRE SOME RESEARCH!"

You grin, and the rest of the ride passes peacefully with idle banter and the occasional observation of your surroundings. Towards the end, you let Papyrus place his arms around you so he can hold the reins in your stead, something that practically makes him vibrate with excitement as he guides Merlin back to the cabin.

"SANS, LOOK!" he proclaims proudly when you all arrive home safe and sound as promised to find Sans already waiting for you on the front step.

The shorter skeleton looks hugely relieved at the sight of the pair of you riding towards him from the treeline, but he hides it quickly enough behind an easy, lopsided grin. "way to go, cowboy," he says lightly. "we're still not getting a horse."

"THAT'S OKAY, SANS," Papyrus says, and his brother immediately shoots him a suspicious look.

"is it?" he asks slowly, eyes narrowed. His eyelights dart from his brother, to you, who he immediately notes is struggling to suppress a smile, which does not make him feel any better.

"YES," Papyrus proclaims as he slides off Merlin's back and you follow suit, allowing the skeleton to retain his hold on Merlin's reins for the time being. "I HAVE DECIDED TO GET A MOOSE INSTEAD!"

" _what?!_ "

You laugh so hard and long that Papyrus has to put a hand out to steady you.

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks so much for reading! Make sure to drop a review if you enjoyed, and let me know your favorite part! Next week is the final main chapter, and features the smut so many of you have been waiting for, hehe. I still plan on releasing some chapters after that, of course, but they'll no longer be on the regular update schedule since I consider chapter 13 to be the last of what you'd call the main story arc, hah. The rest is just bonus material. I began this fic as just a fun little project to see what it'd take to get Sans to open up and fall in love with a reader character in the heart of Alaska... and we've pretty well managed that, I think, heh.


	13. Boy's Got Rhythm

**AN:** Well, here we are at last, the last of the regularly scheduled updates! Honestly, the whole point of this fic was just an exploration of what it would take for Sans to get into a serious relationship with a human in the middle of the woods in Alaska, then blow their mind with fantastic sex... and as of this chapter we've definitely done that! Don't be sad, though, I still have at least a few more actual chapters planned, as well as some POV swaps, so keep your eyes peeled!

Make sure to drop a review if you enjoyed, hearing what your favorite part was is always a delight, and really helps me keep writing!

* * *

 **Winter in Your Bones  
** Chapter Thirteen: Boy's got rhythm

"Hey, Sans?"

"'sup, sweetheart?" your boyfriend asks from where he is sprawled out on your bed, flat on his back as he browses on his phone. It's been two weeks since you went on your little outing with Papyrus, and you still don't think he's quite forgiven you for feeding his brother's idea about getting a pet moose for a steed.

You just find it funny.

Still, there is something that has been weighing on your mind for some time, and close as you've become with the monster, you think it's about time you finally asked. Before you do, though, you finish drying your face then turn off the bathroom light and move back towards the bed.

Sans is dressed in his familiar track pants and white t-shirt, though you haven't seen as much of them since you finally talked him around to dressing for the weather. He mostly wears them on the nights when he stays late, finding them far more comfortable for lounging on your sofa or, more and more frequently, on your bed.

Not that you've done anything _interesting_ on your bed, as yet… though it's not for lack of trying on your part.

Well, okay, maybe you could try a _little_ harder, but you're not looking to push Sans into anything he's not ready for, no matter how much you're aching for it. You _are_ doing your very best to make it plain just how ready you are to take things to the next level, however. You're physically affectionate with him in bed, and he's certainly seemed quite happy to indulge you in that at least. Getting used to cuddling with a skeleton has taken a little practice, but it's a task you've tackled with aplomb, and you've got the hang of it now. It's all about finding just the right angle. The resulting make-out sessions have been fantastic, though none of them have gotten past second base, unfortunately.

Hell, you've even upped your pajama game. Historically speaking, you've always been an old, baggy t-shirt kinda girl with a pair of shorts or pj pants depending on the temperature, but you've invested in a few cuter things of late in hopes of turning the tide.

Like now, for instance. You're wearing a silk night gown that falls to just above mid-thigh, and definitely not the sort of thing you've ever owned in the past. Oh, you have _lingerie_ , but you're not trying to be quite that obvious about it. This new gown doesn't even have any lace on it, though it is wonderfully soft against your skin, and is your favorite shade of blue. You're feeling a little more daring than usual, and despite the thinness of the fabric, you're not wearing a bra, a fact that is immediately obvious to anyone who might happen to so much as glance your way.

Sans does so, and you know you're not imagining the way his eyelights linger on you, trailing down your figure as you move towards him and settle on top of the blankets next to him. You congratulate yourself on not blushing the entire time, though your heart rate definitely spikes a bit when he doesn't move over to accomodate you like he normally would, meaning your arm and thigh press firmly against his until you roll over onto your side and prop your head up on your hand.

This shift in position brings you even closer, and you have to fight to keep the smug smile off your face when Sans' gaze is immediately caught by the swell of your cleavage as it strains a bit against the silk of your night gown. You manage (barely), and keep up the trend by not grinning at the faint blue blush that overtakes his face as his gaze darts back to his phone.

Still, fun as this all is, you really _do_ have a question for him.

"That night we, uh-" you hesitate and grimace a little as you look for the appropriate words. Sans glances up at you, eyelights firmly on your face this time. "That night when we first _really_ met," you decide on eventually, and your smile is a little bashful as he chuckles at your phrasing.

"you mean the night you admitted you'd been sleeping the whole time?"

You quirk a brow at him. "Yep. Same night you admitted you'd broken into my cabin and snuggled up to a random stranger."

He drops his phone onto the bed and holds a hand up in surrender. "rings a few bells," he muses and rolls over onto his side to face you, position mirroring yours, eyes half-lidded as he regards you thoughtfully. "what about it?"

Sans is very close now, and it would be so easy to lean in just a few inches to catch his mouth with yours for a kiss, but you refrain for the sake of satisfying your curiosity.

There'll be time for kissing later, after all.

"Right, that one," you agree with a wry smile. "When you were explaining why you'd broken in, you mentioned that the reason you were cold enough to break into a random cabin was that you were already cold from the ride in the back of the truck, and the walk after that did you in."

The shift in Sans' demeanor is subtle, but you know him well enough by now that he might as well have flinched.

Your smile fades into a frown of concern and you press the point by asking, "What did you mean by that?"

He turns his face from yours, but he's still looking at you sidelong as though hoping if he doesn't answer right away you'll drop the subject. You keep right on staring him down, however, and finally he gives in, realizing he's not likely to win in the face of your determination.

"i wasn't hiding out in your truck bed or anything," he says, eyelights no longer meeting yours.

You quirk a brow, unimpressed by his dissembling. "I know. There's no way you could have gotten away with that, not with how many groceries you buy," you muse with a snort. "I'm not _blind._ "

A huff of amusement escapes him and he finally looks at you again.

"Have you been hitching?" you ask, back to concerned now. Even for a monster that sort of thing was dangerous. Maybe even _especially_ for a monster. "Is that how you get to town on days we don't go together?"

"kinda," he admits, voice low as he picks absently at a stray thread on your blanket. You wait for him to continue, and eventually he does, "I've got a psuedo arrangement with a guy that lives out this way. If he sees me out on the road at the junction, he'll let me grab a ride into town in the back of his truck for fifty bucks. He doesn't come back in til late, though-"

"Which is why you're always coming by so late at night," you finish, eyes widening a little as you process this information. "Wait," you say, as something in particular in his tale triggers alarm bells. "The back of his truck? Are you still doing that now?!"

He's not looking at you again and that's confession enough.

"Oh my god, Sans!" you exclaim, horrified as you sit bolt upright on the bed and turn to face him head on. "You numskull! Do you have any idea how _dangerous_ that is even when it's _not_ below zero outside? No wonder you were frozen half to death when we first met!"

Your horror is in no way abated by the way a snort of laughter at your inadvertent joke on his part escapes Sans.

You scowl and shove his shoulder so he falls over onto his back. "I'm not kidding! And-" the _real_ question at the heart of the situation occurs to you and you become downright furious as you demand, "Who the _fuck_ is making you ride in the back of their truck in the middle of fucking winter?!"

Realizing that you're in no mood for his levity, Sans sits up and reaches out to you in an attempt to soothe you. "sweetheart, it's no big deal. i'm used to this kind of crap, you don't gotta get worked up over it-" he begins, and though you know he's trying to talk you down, his words only feed your anger on his behalf.

"No! This is bullshit!" you say and roll out of bed, feet hitting the floor with a thump that makes Lucy jump in her bed as you get up and start pacing, shoulders rigid and teeth grit. Your dog slinks under your desk, though you're far too distracted to notice. "Who is this guy? What's his name?" you demand as you round on Sans, who actually leans back a little at the picture of righteous indignation you paint.

"come on, sweetheart," he attempts to coax again, though he does not quite dare reach out to touch you this time, bristling as you are. You're a right terror when you're on the war path, though this is the angriest he's ever seen you. The fact that you've gotten so worked on on _his_ behalf is something that touches his soul, though. A human being protective of him… it's novel, and it means a great deal more to him than he ever anticipated it might. The smile he levels at you in that moment is so soft and adoring that it actually wrong foots you and takes the edge off your fury. "what are you gonna do if I tell you? hunt him down and break his kneecaps?"

You squint at him, but your shoulders come down from around your ears and you find it hard to keep the fires of your anger stoked when he's smiling at you like that from the bed, head canted to one side as his eyelights watch your every move.

"Maybe," you mumble resentfully as you cross your arms over your chest with a huff, hip cocked, everything about your body language screaming your dissatisfaction.

"guy's got kids, darlin'" Sans tells you gently. You shoot him a look and he lifts both hands defensively before continuing, "i know that doesn't excuse it, but don't go taking out a family's breadwinner for my sake." You huff and shift to the other hip, just barely bringing yourself within your boyfriend's reach. He snags your arm and gently pulls it free of the other so his hand slides down its length to yours. "c'mere," he says, voice gentle but insistent as he gives you a tug.

You look at Sans sidelong, and though the way he's watching you threatens to send a shiver right up your back, you resist his pull and say, "Promise me you won't get a ride from him again?" The skeleton looks at you, expression unreadable now, and you press on, "Someone who's willing to make a person ride an hour and a half in the back of a truck in the middle of winter… Sans I don't know what else someone like that is capable of doing."

The genuine concern that knits your brow softens Sans' features and a small, lopsided smile tugs at his mouth. "alright," he says, then gives your hand another gentle tug.

You allow him to draw you back to the edge of the bed, but no further, before continuing, "And promise me you'll just tell me if you need to make a second trip into town? I'll even teach you to drive stick if you want."

He chuckles and tugs once more, "alright," he repeats, and you drop to your knees on the mattress before him.

"And promise you'll-" you begin, but Sans chooses that moment to surge up to his knees and catches your lips with his, silencing you with a kiss.

"hush now," he murmurs against your skin as the last of your resistance melts away and you allow him to pull you in against his chest. "you've made your point, sweetheart. i promise."

"But-" you start again, in a half hearted attempt to continue the conversation, though at this point, with Sans' lips gently working their way down the line of your throat, you're not entirely sure what else it was you wanted him to promise. His mouth finds the crux of your neck and shoulder and lingers there a moment as he takes a breath and presses his face into your hair.

Sans' hand sweeps up your arm and gently pushes aside the strap of your night gown, baring your shoulder to his attentions.

"but you talk too much," he huffs lightly, humor clear in the deep tones of his voice even as the warmth of his breath against your skin makes you shiver in his arms. "cold, sweetheart?" he asks.

"No," you answer truthfully, if breathlessly as you tilt your head to one side then press your lips to his temple and your arms slip around his shoulders.

"good," he says, and suddenly you're falling as he twists so you fall back onto the mattress, pinned under the length of his body. "i'd hate for you to catch a chill," he adds, voice teasing but rough in your ear as he slips a hand along your thigh, then keeps right on going up to your waist, carrying the hem of your night gown with it.

"You're the one who always has feet like icicles," you point out distractedly, then gasp as Sans' tongue flicks out to trace the line of your collar bone. He takes his time about it, and the electric buzz of his magic, familiar now, though no less potent, makes your eyes flutter shut blissfully. Without thinking, you spread your legs and allow him to settle more comfortably between your thighs. Normally this move would give Sans pause, but now he only chuckles.

"guilty as charged," he mumbles against your skin, and you delight in the way his breath shudders behind his ribs when you allow your hands to shift so your fingers trace the line of his spine. Sans lifts his head and looks at you, eyelights huge and diffuse in their sockets as he regards you. You quirk a brow in question at him and a smile tugs at one side of his mouth as he allows his hand to drift up and over the silk of your nightgown, tracing the line of your ribs and then back down to your hip. "sweetheart-" he begins after a moment, only to pause, seeming at a loss for words.

"You talk too much," you tell him with a coy smile, turning his own words back on him as you lean up and kiss him, using your arms around his shoulders to drag him in flush against you. He smiles against your lips and needs little coaxing on your part to respond in kind.

"probably," he admits and slips one arm behind your neck and uses the other to take a firm hold of your backside, making you hum in appreciation and roll your hips enticingly against him. "old habits die hard, i guess," he gasps when you both briefly come up for air, only to dive right back in for more.

You let him into your mouth readily, tilting your head back to allow him deeper as he devours you with an unexpected passion that leaves you breathless. You rake your fingers across his shoulder blades and then down his ribs until you land on his hips. You linger there a moment until you break for air again, then grab his shirt by the hem and drag it up and over his head. Sans barely seems to notice beyond shifting his grip on you so he can shed the piece of fabric and cast it impatiently aside.

He's grinding against you now, and you can feel that tension in his pants rubbing against your entrance in a maddening fashion that is new in your relationship. You've done plenty of fooling around by this point, but Sans has always stopped short of outright torturing you until now. You gasp his name breathlessly and grab him by the crest of his hips to pull him in harder against you, forcing an agonized groan from your boyfriend.

Desperate for more contact, Sans shoves your nightgown up and over your breasts so it pools just under your arms, making you whimper and moan at the sudden rush of cool air across your flush skin. The monster shifts so his hips keep contact with yours, but now latches onto your left breast with his mouth, and gently palms the right. The sweet, wet hiss of his magic over the already firm bud of your nipple makes you cry out and clutch desperately at him. His teeth tease your flesh and your hips buck against his as one of your hands goes up over his right to encourage him to use more pressure. He's quick on the uptake, and before long you're completely lost in his touch, breathless and dizzy by the time he lifts his head to kiss you again.

Sans must have gotten your nightgown off you at some point, because it's nowhere to be found when you break from his mouth and trail your own tongue down the vertebrae of his neck. Your underwear are still firmly in place, though in danger of soaking clean through at this rate, but your boyfriend certainly doesn't seem to care about getting his track pants damp. You hum, pleased when your carefully questing fingers dip beneath the hem of said pants to find that Sans has forgone boxers tonight. Feeling brave, you tug them down just a few inches to give the monster a chance to object.

He doesn't, but bends to kiss you again instead, and you distract him with your lips even as you slip a hand into the back of his pants and follow his vertebrae down to his sacrum. You trace it lightly with your fingertips, and are gratified when Sans immediately stills against you, a gentle 'ah' of surprise escaping him. You look up at him from under your lashes to gauge his reaction and find him biting down hard on his bottom lip, breath coming quick and shallow. Your hand slips further down yet until you find his coccyx and run your fingers, gentle yet firm, over it. The motion drags an outright moan from Sans, and you smile at his reaction, pleased that the area is apparently just as sensitive as you've always suspected it would be. What's more, his cock twitches with every stroke.

Your name escapes him, rough, ragged, and stammering, and suddenly he's kissing you again. It's rough and it's hungry, and you're completely taken off guard by the ferocity of it as he forces you back into the mattress and thrusts mercilessly against you.

"Sans," you gasp when he diverts his attention to your neck again, and latches on to the muscle there with his teeth. It hurts, but damn if it doesn't feel fucking amazing at the same time, and rather than beg him to stop, you hold on for dear life as he drags you in hard against him until it's hard to tell where one of you starts and the other ends. The skeleton's arms wrap tight around you, bringing your chest flush against his so your breasts are pressed to the hard ridges of his ribs. It _should_ be uncomfortable, but as your hips rock in time with his, you can't imagine a better place in all the world to be than on your bed with Sans on top of you, breath mingling and sweat beginning to bead on your skin as the temperature in your small cabin rises.

You feel his tongue slide up the column of your throat again, and you actually whimper when he murmurs, "god you taste good," directly by your ear. Sans' grip on you loosens, and you're about to complain for the loss of contact until you realize his hands have drifted to your hips and are tracing the hem of your underwear. He murmurs your name again, and you force yourself to focus on his face you can meet his eyes.

Sans' face is flushed blue, and you're a little surprised to realize that he's sweating too; fine, pale blue beads of magic can be spotted here and there on him. You watch, entranced, as one trickles down the line of his jaw and drips off to land with a soft fizzle of magic on the bare skin of your chest.

"do you really-" he begins, then stops, the heat of the moment slowly seeping out of him as he actually stops and thinks about what he's so close to finally doing. He's thinking too much, you know it.

"Sans," you say, voice soft but passionate as you draw him close into you once more. Your lips brush his cheek and you can't help but run your tongue along his jaw, relishing the taste of the raw magic beading there. "Sans, I _want_ you," you tell him, and you know you sound utterly desperate, but there in that moment, you think that's what he needs to hear. He needs the truth, and the truth is that you're aching for him something fierce, and whatever backwards idea you know he's got in his head about not being what you want is completely wrong. "I've wanted you since before I realized you weren't a figment of my dreams," you admit with a shy, though coy smile as you pull back a little to look at him again.

The monster's eye sockets widen fractionally and you feel your blush intensify as he stares down at you. "i..." a rough laugh that vibrates through your frame and makes your toes curl escapes him and he tears his gaze from yours for a moment before glancing back at you sidelong. "me too," he admits quietly, then leans in to kiss you again.

It starts sweet, but it doesn't take much for the both of you to pick up that increasingly familiar rhythm again until you're moving in unison, breathless and desperate. Things reach a fever pitch and all sign of doubt are gone as he reaches down and not so gently pulls your underwear down over your hips. You're more than happy to lift so he can yank them off and cast them aside before doing the same for his pants.

Curious as you've been about things, you look down between you as he situates himself between your thighs once more. You can't help but blink when you see that Sans' cock is the same shade of blue as his tongue. This doesn't come as a complete surprise as you _had_ managed to get him to admit as much one night when you'd both had a little more to drink than normal. Knowing it and seeing it are two totally different things, though. Your tongue wets your lips as you regard your boyfriend's member, and you jump a little when he clears his throat.

You look at him and find Sans watching you with a wry smile and one cocked brow. You know you're not imagining the awkwardness in the tension of his shoulders, though. Eager to reassure him, you lean up to kiss him again, and feel your boyfriend relax a little as you do, though that goes right out the window again when you slip your hand down between the two of you and run your fingers along his length. He gasps into your mouth, and you hum pleasurably at the now familiar thrum of magic that meets your fingertips when you touch him, and it only intensifies when you take a hold of his cock at the base and give it a few slow, practiced strokes.

Much like Sans' tongue, his dick isn't exactly _warm_ in the way a human man's would have been, but the electric hum of magic under your palm more than makes up for that. Overall, it's smoother than what you're used to thanks to a lack of veins, but you're rather intrigued by the ridges that run down its length from tip to base along the bottom.

Your boyfriend breaks the kiss and fights to catch his breath as he thrusts helplessly against your hand, and you find yourself smiling at his utter lack of control in that moment. Wanting to put it to good use, you carefully guide him towards your entrance and relish the way he hisses when the tip of his cock slips along your wet folds. You keep him from pushing past right away, instead allowing his full length to slide along your opening, getting him just as slick as you are.

Sans swears, soft but vehement and shakes his head as he gasps, "s-sweetheart, i can't."

You stop immediately and look up at him, wide eyed. "Are you-" you begin, worried you've crossed a line he wasn't ready for after all.

Before you can even finish the question, though, Sans knocks aside your hand and grabs your hips. "i can't play anymore. i need you. fuck, i just-... i-i _need-_ " and then he's sliding into the soft, velvet heat of you with one slow, deliberate thrust and you're crying out, clinging helplessly to him as you ride that sweet rush of magic.

The sensation is so much more _visceral_ than when he kisses you, and you feel your head go numb as your thoughts spin away like so much snow before a gale. He's leaning over you, brow pressed into the crook of your neck as you fling your arms around his shoulders and hold on tight when he begins to thrust, erratic in his desperation for a few moments until he finds that rhythm again. Your eyes flutter shut and you focus on matching him thrust for thrust, though you can barely even manage that much in the face of the pleasure that rushes over you in waves with every move he makes.

It's like nothing you've ever experienced before, and the stimulation not only from his magic as he slides in and out of you, but those ridges along the underside of Sans' cock brings you right to the brink of orgasm faster than anything you've ever done before. You tighten convulsively around him and his grip on your hips tightens as, with one final thrust, the monster pushes you over the edge, making you gasp raggedly, your back arching as you find your sweet release.

Your breathing is rough and uneven as your eyes finally open again to find him watching you with heavily lidded eyes. The look makes you flush, embarrassed at how easy it had been for him to finish you off when he was still clearly far from done himself if the feel of him still inside you is anything to go by. Sans doesn't say anything for a moment, but as an aftershock of your orgasm makes your walls flutter around his cock he starts to move again, slow and gentle this time, making you moan.

He leans in and kisses you with a tenderness that would have left you breathless if the exertion hadn't already taken care of that, then slips his cheekbone lightly along yours to murmur in your ear, "you're beautiful..."

The warm, rolling tones of his voice make your toes curl, and you might have responded if he hadn't timed his next thrust in perfect unison with another trembling aftershock, making you gasp, then turn your head to bury his face in his neck.

"S-Sans," you mumble helplessly against his collarbone as he shifts his position so he's still got one arm around you, but the other has gone up to grasp the headboard. His pace is slowly but surely picking up again, and when you let your head drop back onto the pillow again, you have to bite down on your lower lip to muffle a whimper as you realize your boyfriend has expertly coaxed your body through its aftershocks and right back around to build into another orgasm. You can already feel it rising in you, making your hands fist in the blankets as Sans leans over you, back arched as he uses his grip on the headboard for leverage.

"a little more, sweetheart," he murmurs breathlessly, "just a little more."

You look up at him again, and you can tell from the way he's biting fiercely at his lower lip that he's on the edge as well, though his eyes are closed now, as if he is doing his utmost to concentrate. Sans shifts his angle some and picks up his tempo, making you moan and slip your arms up around his neck, pulling him in close as you spread your legs wider, letting him push in deeper yet. The head of his cock hits your sweetspot and you cry out and tighten around him as hard as you can, as if to hold him there, and the sensation is more than the monster can take.

A soft, almost agonized cry escapes Sans and after a few final, hurried thrusts, you feel him shift position to pull out. Before he can, however, you hook your legs up and over his hips, then drag him in to the hilt, making his eyes fly open in surprise to look at you as you smile up at him, shy and a little embarrassed, but completely unashamed of your actions. Taking this not just as permission, but a command, Sans grasps you by the hips once more and doubles down, grinding hard into the blissful, agonizing heat of you as he reaches his climax and, with a final groan, pours himself into you.

The sensation of that heat rushing through you sends you over the edge with a cry of your own, and it's everything you can do to cling to Sans' shoulders, your thighs locked tight around his hips as you thrust against him to coax every last ounce of magic from him until you feel ready to come apart at the seams. The heat of it is incredible, the sensation indescribable as you sag, exhausted, and trembling back against the mattress.

"Holy hell," you mumble as you reach a hand up and brush a few sweat damp strands of hair from your face while Sans collapses onto one elbow over you, then drops his head to rest on your shoulder, weakly humming his agreement.

The skeleton presses a few lazy kisses to your neck before his strength seems to give out and he topples sideways off of you to sprawl beside you on the mattress. You're both quiet for a moment, and then you roll over onto your side and land a kiss on Sans' cheek.

A soft huff of laughter escapes him, and he rolls over so he can press a kiss to your forehead in turn, making you smile. After a moment, you ask, "You were gonna pull out there at the end; why? You can't get me pregnant."

And it was true. It was a well known fact that these days that monsters of any type were incapable of breeding with humans. Sans quirks a brow at you and his mouth twists into a wry sort of smile. "i know. seemed rude to assume you didn't mind, though, and i wasn't about to interrupt the moment by asking," he muses.

You nod, appreciating the thought behind it, then smile and say, "I don't mind."

Sans laughs and pulls you in flush against his chest then twines his legs through yours. "i gathered as much," he remarks lightly and your smile turns into a grin as you snuggle in against him happily.

A thought occurs to you and you can't help but snicker a little and say, "So, since we finally had sex… does that mean I just got _boned?_ "

Your boyfriend laughs, low and delighted in his chest and you join in. "more like we _phalange-_ ly had sex."

" _Tibia_ honest," you said, "I was starting to think we never would."

Sans' amusement softens into something gentler as he regards you. "sorry," he says, and you suddenly regret your joke.

"Don't be," you reply quickly, no longer teasing as you reach up and brush your fingers along his jawline. "I was willing to wait. I know not everyone likes to… jump into that sort of thing."

Your boyfriend's smile returns and he catches your hand with his and presses a kiss to your fingertips. "worth the wait at least, i hope," he muses slyly, knowing full well that he'd just blown your mind with the most amazing sex of your life.

Still, you can't let his ego _too_ out of control...

"Could use some vanilla ice cream," you inform him with a smirk.

Your answer startles a laugh out of Sans, and the wicked grin that overcomes his face then makes you swallow hard as he rolls so he's on top of you again, pinning you to the mattress before he replies, "challenge accepted, sweetheart."

Oh dear.

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks so much again for coming along with me on this fluffy journey! As mentioned up top, I still have some more chapters planned, they just won't be posted regularly anymore, but as I finish them. Make sure to drop a review with what you thought, and what your favorite part was! I love hearing that stuff!


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